Regresa
by Bella Regia
Summary: Bella learns she has lived many past lives through regression therapy. She wakes up and is no longer herself, but 400-year-old Spanish royalty waiting for her true love. AU/AH/Rated M for Language.
1. Chapter 1

BPOV

"Wake up."

My eyes snapped open in the bright afternoon light creeping through the blinds. Like always, I experienced a slight sense of vertigo as I took in my surroundings.

Dr. Jasper Whitlock, my therapist, was sitting next to me. He was the image of a consummate professional, detachedly taking notes on a yellow legal pad. He glanced at me and waited for me to speak.

"It was… different." I struggled for words as I tried to recall my regression. Once I was thrust again into the present, some of the details regarding my past lives became blurred.

"How so?" Dr. Whitlock cleared his throat and tapped his pen lightly on the paper. I concentrated on the beat, letting images flash before my eyes.

"I think I was in Paris. It had that old, turn-of-the-century Parisian feel to it, anyway." I had learned long ago that the regressions were not limited to a specific country, language, or time period. Or to my chosen profession.

I was hostess at a restaurant called _La Maison Rose_. My college dreams had died along with my parents in a car crash seven years ago. I had barely turned 18, when the accident shattered my life completely. I was getting ready to leave Phoenix for Dartmouth; however, my educational dreams were cut short.

It wasn't for lack of funds, as many would have believed. I had a hefty trust fund, already into effect, as well as my parents' suddenly-begotten inheritance. I had no real aspirations; for now, seating patrons and booking tables would do. It was easy work, and made it seem as if I were at least doing something. I no longer held any expectations of what life could hold for me in the future. Instead, I looked to the past.

My friend Angela had recommended I tried regression therapy one day, after I had tried to talk to her about the void I felt inside, trying to elucidate why I felt so empty. Angela had pulled out a business card from her wallet and handed it to me.

"Just make an appointment. Try it out. Maybe it'll help." And she had been right. I still didn't fully understand why regressing to past lives made me feel better, as though I were uncovering deep, meaningful stuff, in an attempt to head somewhere. But as long as the zombie feeling was kept at bay, anything would do.

Dr. Whitlock was there to help me deconstruct my past-life memories. I trusted him implicitly. I didn't always manage to recover ancient memories, but it happened more often than most, as Dr. Whitlock had told me. Under his guidance, I had regressed to America in the late 1700s, Japan during the Allied occupation, 19th century Russia, and now 1905 Paris, apparently.

"Where were you?" Dr. Whitlock pressed, bringing me out of my reverie.

"I caught a shop labeled _Montparnasse_…

"Do you speak French at all?" Dr. Whitlock gazed at me intently.

"Only what I can remember from high school." I shifted on the plushy couch, letting the sound and smell memories take over. "I saw lots of beige, yellow stonemasonry. There was fresh bread baking and perfumes and also something like sewage."

"Sounds like Paris alright." Dr. Whitlock glanced at his watch and closed his legal pad. "Sorry to rush through, Bella—"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it. I took awhile to go back this time. Actually," I said, pushing back my sleeve to look at my own wrist, "I have to get to my shift at the restaurant." I stood up, shaking my head slightly to clear that fuzzy just-woke-up feeling.

"See you in two weeks." Dr. Whitlock shook my hand. "Don't forget to write down anything else that might come to you, as well as keeping up with your dream journal."

"Yeah, of course. Thanks." I grabbed my messenger bag and headed out of the office building. I bet people who saw me leaving Dr. Whitlock's office wondered how someone like me—plain, simple, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and beaten black Chucks could afford regression therapy. _Screw'em_, I thought. _I have nothing to justify, not even to myself_.

I headed a few blocks down the street, made a few turns and finally made it to _Maison Rose_. I slipped through the back entrance and waved to all the busy chefs bustling about the kitchen. I went into the tiny locker room and changed into a slightly wrinkled blouse and skirt set I pulled from my messenger bag. Sighing, I kicked off my shoes, stepping into a pair of really uncomfortable heels. No pantyhose. Shit.

Oh well. Let them see I tried to make an effort. I stuffed my everyday wear into the bag before shoving it into an empty locker. I tottered my way into the restaurant, stopping at the hostess' station. I grabbed a few menus and proceeded to deal with the night's reservations and walk-ins.

Just an ordinary girl, an ordinary day.

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**Hey… slow, I know, but I have to set the mood and get a feel for Bella's character since she's in for a rude awakening. Edward to come soon, promise. ****I just wikiied the shit out of regression therapy, and I'm well aware most people regard it as total bullshit but for the purposes of this story, just fucking go with it, ok? R&R!!! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Still trying to decide whether another 'introductory' chapter is needed or we can delve right into the good stuff. We'll see. **

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I squinted my eyes at the bright sunshine pouring through my window. The drapes were doing shit to keep it out of my eyes this morning. I had spent a very restless night, tossing and turning; the pale green sheets were tangled around my ankles.

I turned on my right side, pushing my hair out of my face. I reached over and picked up the black Moleskine I used as a dream journal. I snickered to myself as I picked up a purple pen and poised it over a fresh page. What dreams? I didn't think I had any left; most were nightmares, anyway.

I'd been having a really angsty one lately. More often than not, I woke up in a sweat, heart pounding crazily and shaking all over. In the dream, I was wandering around a dark corridor. Every time I came upon a bend in the narrow hall, I would feel an odd sense of expectation, but the tunnel was relentless. I tried to run faster through the corridor, but I felt extremely heavy. There was a dark sense of foreboding, as though I had lost something and had to find it urgently.

I finished writing the last part of the dream in my shitty penmanship before kicking the rumpled bedcovers away. I didn't bother making the bed; I simply pulled the lavender bedspread over the whole mess and headed for the shower.

Half an hour later, I walked into a Starbucks and ordered my usual iced vanilla latte. I picked the furthest corner away from the door and pulled a trashy fiction novel from my messenger bag. Occasionally, I found myself distracted by the people walking into the coffee shop, but none of them were familiar to me. I'd had to switch Starbucks after an awkward one-night-stand with a guy called Jacob. I'd met him over chocolate-filled pastries and agreed to go out with him that very night. The next morning, I'd snuck out of his apartment, and skipped the Starbucks conveniently located 4 blocks away from my place for the one downtown.

I mean, the sex had been pleasurable in its own right, but there had been no spark, no connection. There was always something missing. Like most of my previous relationships, the guys were simply means to an end. I'd woken up to find Jacob's arm draped over me, and after I'd managed to extricate myself, I simply fled. No fuss, no hassle.

After I finished my latte, I decided to head over to Best Buy and check out their new DVD releases. I kept a huge movie collection that almost rivaled my book collection. The sales guy was overly helpful, making suggestions and trailing discreetly behind me every time I sauntered into the next aisle.

"So… you like the period films?" he asked, noticing the movies I held. I glanced blankly up at him before I was saved by the ring. I pulled my cell and checked the caller ID. Angela. I smiled apologetically at the guy whose nametag read _Tyler_ and answered the phone.

"Hi, honey, how's work today?" I kept the smile plastered on my face.

"Honey? Since when are you one with the terms of endearment?" Angela laughed.

"Oh, well, you know…" I let out a tinkering laugh and shook my head at Tyler. He was still standing there awkwardly. Okay, so my message wasn't getting through.

"Well, whatever game you're playing, just listen to this. Remember how I was telling you about this friend of ours, Eric? He's totally interested in going out with you sometime, what do you think?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. I'll be home at around seven." Hell, _no_. A few months ago she'd tried to set me up with some guy named Eric. I'd only recently forgiven her and her husband Ben for that one.

"Alright Bella. Even though I think you should at least let me show you his Facebook profile and—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it. Love you, baby." I glanced meaningfully at Tyler once more, and he finally got it. He gave me a half-assed smile and scurried away. Thank God.

"Fine. Hope your stalker left you alone now. Honestly, Bella. Would it kill you—" Angela was humorously annoyed now. Just because her relationship with Ben was nauseatingly perfect, she thought I should find something like it for myself. Fat fucking chance.

"Uh-huh. Bye!" I snapped the Motorola shut and dropped it back in the bag. I was definitely not letting her set me up again. Ever. I made my way to the register and paid for the DVDs. The blazing Arizona sunshine was beating mercilessly on the pavement as I pulled out of the parking lot.

I loved that I had the evening shift at the _Maison Rose_. It allowed me to wake up late, which I loved; I could get all my errands done, go for an afternoon cup of coffee, and have a session with my therapist if I so chose. I lounged about my apartment; I watched half of one of my new purchases. I prepared my outfit for that night's shift, remembering to wear pantyhose this time.

I drove over to the restaurant, parking at the back. I stepped out, wincing as my heels pinched my feet in all the wrong places. I cursed the stupid misogynist bastard who invented heels as I clicked my way into the restaurant's back door. The night began with the usual round of smiles and polite exchanges with the patrons.

"Excuse me, I'm waiting for someone," said a high-pitched, grating voice.

I glanced up to see a short brunette standing impatiently before me. I offered her a small smile. "Do you have a reservation?"

"It's under his name. Edward Cullen. Is he here yet?" She shifted on her feet and craned her neck past me to peer into the restaurant.

"No, he hasn't been seated yet, ma'am." I added the 'ma'am' with vindictive pleasure. She was clearly my age. "Would you care to wait at the bar? I'll be sure to let him know where you are when he arrives. Your name, please, ma'am?" Score.

"Jessica." Huffing, the woman agreed to have a couple of drinks while she waited. As I walked back to the lectern, I ruminated over the name of her date. Cullen. It sounded vaguely familiar for some reason.

As the evening wore on, I kept stealing glances at Jessica, the brunette. Her hair was overly teased; she had clearly never received the memo declaring the 80s dead. After several cosmos, she threw a piece of gum in her mouth, which she proceeded to chew loudly. God, was I glad I wasn't sitting next to her.

Finally, she had been waiting for over two hours. It was almost midnight when she gave up. Jessica stood from the banquette, wobbling slightly. Had I been her, I would have left after the cosmos. Fuck it, I probably wouldn't have agreed to the blind date anyway. But to have been stood up without even having met… my sympathies.

After closing time, I kept thinking about the name. It bugged me for some reason. It wasn't until after I was in bed again that it hit me. It was also the last name of _Maison Rose_'s owners. They were a married couple called Emmett and Rosalie Cullen. Surely, this Ed guy was related.

I finally drifted off to sleep. I felt safe in the knowledge that every day would be the same as long as the inner void was there. The only thing that made it bearable was that I had a therapy session in a couple of weeks. I wondered if this time, I would be walking in what seemed like another's shoes, another time… sometimes, not even comprehending the language due to my own limitations.

I longed to have someone else's life, different than mine, one that was not so empty.

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**Kind of slow… it'll pick up soon enough. Trust me. R&R!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I had a really rough week, combined with my birthday yesterday and taking care of my slightly intoxicated cousin. Figures it's my party, but I wind up the DD. Anyway, enjoy. Getting into the good stuff…**

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"I dreamt it again last night. The wandering dream." I shifted on the comfortable leather couch and glanced at Dr. Whitlock. He traced his pen over his legal pad and waited for me to continue. "I don't understand why it's so repetitive. As if it's some sort of unfinished business… but it really doesn't mean anything to me. There's never anyone else in the dream."

"And you don't think that in itself is significant?" He raised his eyebrows at me expectantly. I shrugged, letting out my breath in a sigh.

"I want to try again. To regress." I settled further into the couch and looked at the doctor. He nodded and set his legal pad aside. I smiled slightly and closed my eyes. My arms lay at my sides as I began finding a rhythm to my breathing. All I focused on was air entering and leaving my body and Dr. Whitlock's voice.

"Breathe in. Feel. Listen…" The tone was soothing and deep. He turned up the volume on the white-noise machine he kept on his desk to ensure that nothing from our sessions could be heard in the waiting room. It helped me clear my mind as well.

Slowly, but surely, my body began to relax even more. I felt the familiar tugging around the edges of my consciousness, and the sounds I'd been focusing on began to fade. I was suddenly free-falling, almost tumbling down, down, and it felt like I would never be able to stop.

Dr. Whitlock, the office, the couch I lay on, even the clothes I wore seemed to disappear completely. There was a void, black, which threatened to swallow me whole. I tried to move my arms, to find purchase in the pitch dark. It was as though I were bound—like I wasn't even there.

My heart beat rapidly, and I tried to focus on that instead. I counted the pounding rhythm, _onetwothreefourfivesixseven_… it seemed to reassure me that I was still alive, and that the darkness would not last forever.

Quite abruptly, the spinning free-fall came to a halt. My eyes were still tightly closed, and I was hesitant to open them quickly. Instead, I reached tentatively with my hands, trying to get my bearings.

It appeared that I was lying down. The spot felt comfortable, more than I expected. I touched my face, my hair, my clothes… these were not what I remembered. It felt like a dress… a heavily-embroidered dress. I furrowed my brow, disconcerted.

In my past regressions, I couldn't remember ever having felt this level of detail. Sometimes I was in the memory, other times it was like watching a movie of myself. Other times, it was simply a vague picture, frozen. But I had never experienced this much awareness within a regression. I guessed I'd have to see for myself.

I finally opened my eyes, slowly. The lighting was dim, its source a thick yellowing candle. I lay on my side, and I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was lying on a canopy bed, with very fancy trappings and polished wood finish. The walls were more or less simple, with an intricate stitching sampler and several religious icons for decoration. I couldn't quite place the time period.

I glance down at my clothes to see if that would help pinpoint an era. The dress was golden, embroidered to within an inch of its life. It was heavy brocade and satin, with a tightly-laced corset that was beginning to compromise my breathing. I tried to pull at the laces, to no avail. Well. I'd just have to deal with it for now. It was a very old-fashioned dress… if I had to guess, I'd say it was like the pictures of the early 1700s. Colonial, maybe.

I stood up tentatively to find delicate matching slippers on my feet. They did not seem suitable for much walking, but they would have to do. I stepped away from the bed, practically tiptoeing towards the door. I was reluctant to open it. Distant flashes of a dream came to me; I was wandering aimlessly down dark corridors. What if I opened the door, and came upon such a hallway?

But for all my trepidation, I didn't want to go back just yet. I pulled the door open slowly, carefully. I peeked out of the room. The floor was made of polished wooden planks. Little tables adorned the hall, with more candles ensconced in the walls and religious icons everywhere. I walked down, finding a staircase. I could hear movement below; perhaps seeing people would give me a better sense of where and _when_ I was. I felt the memories of it, the familiarity of it lurking on the edges, behind a veil. If I could only lift it, I would remember who I was…

A wooden door was open directly in front of the staircase. It looked like the main entrance to the house. It was very heavy and crossed with metal strips, studded with iron nails. A fancy-dressed man stood there, complete with breeches and wig. I stood at the top of the stairs, wondering how I would manage the dress to make my way down.

There was also a woman there, dressed similarly to me. She looked much older than me, though. Her hair was beginning to gray. She held a brief conversation with the man, and finally pulled out a small drawstring purse. The woman extracted a silver coin and pressed it into the man's hand. He bowed but argued softly. I couldn't catch the words.

That made me more determined. Hearing the language would tell me even more about this place. I stepped carefully, one foot, then the other. The stairs creaked, and the woman turned to me, finally. Her expression was severe, worried. It made me recoil, almost.

Then I noticed what she held in her hands. A thin sheet of paper; it was folded like a letter, and it bore a wax seal. She held it out to me, and I hesitated, unsure whether to reach out. I had never had direct interaction with others in my regressions. Oftentimes, it played like a movie—actions were already determined, since it was past, and that could not be changed. Finally, I took the paper from her. It seemed like the required action.

"_Ha llegado un mensaje urgente. __El sello que lleva…" _The words flowed, made no sense. Was it French? It sounded a little like it… but not quite. The intonation, the cadence… I didn't think I could speak it, at any rate. Yet it felt like I had heard it before…

I opened my mouth, to tell her that I could not understand. _"Pero si yo…"_

I stopped, amazed to hear the language from my own tongue. _Spanish_. Did I speak Spanish? Apparently, I did now. The woman's words came into focus: _An urgent message has arrived. The seal it bears…_

I looked down at the letter. The seal was embossed in red wax, the design intricate. A lion, a hand, shamrocks… my heart suddenly beat faster. I knew this, it was very familiar… why couldn't I place it? Somehow, this life's memories were also bound to my own present memories, and I could not recall the meaning of the seal.

"_Lo han enviado directamente de la casa de los Caellén."_ The woman spoke again, wringing her hands nervously. Why did she sound so anxious?

Caellén, Caellén… my heart squeezed again, as though trying to answer. It was right on the edge of my memory, trying to burst forth… did I know this name? Why is it important?

A brief flash of bronze hair and green eyes crossed my mind, and I almost fell back. The name was attached to someone. Someone I loved.

The woman took my upper arm and steadied me. Her fingers dug into my skin, but I was grateful for her support. I sensed something strange. Fear. Something horrible…

I tore the letter open, the seal crumbling in half. The penmanship was an elegant scrawl, but hastily written. Urgency, again, filled my body, like walking through the dream corridor. The heavy sense of foreboding lingered, as I read the message.

_A la más honorable Marquesa del Nuevo Reino de León: Lamentamos informarle que su excelencia… ha perecido en el viaje rumbo a…_

The names blurred together. The letter addressed me with a royal-sounding title… no, not quite royal… a marchioness. And his 'excellency', his 'grace'… had perished during the voyage? Who was he? Who had died?

The woman had been reading over my shoulder. Her hands gripped me even tighter. A low cry escaped from her mouth. She looked at me in horror. _"No puede ser! Como es posible?"_ She dissolved into almost hysterical tears.

I still held the letter in my hands. Memories were slowly seeping through. The Caellén family, very well respected… my own family, very wealthy landowners in—Mexico? Or wasn't it called that yet? The recollections mingled with my own knowledge and that slowed the recognition.

My hands clenched the letter tightly. It ripped and tore easily. Something pinched my fingers. I looked at my left hand, gazing at it in slowly-growing realization.

There was a ring on my hand. The band was delicate gold, a round setting of tiny diamonds. An engagement ring. _Compromiso…_

The truth dawned on me in an instant. Memories tumbled in, and the almost unbearable weight threatened to crush me. The letter was a message from my fiancé's family. And my fiancé's name… his grace. _Eduardo Caellén_. Those green eyes… gone. He was dead. _Y nunca sabrá, lo mucho que lo amo…_

No, no, no. This body's memories—my memories—were too painful. Anguish and grief, a devastating grief, gripped my heart. Darkness seeped into my consciousness. The staircase, the woman, and the letter, _everything_, began to fade. I realized I was fainting, and I embraced the nothingness with relief. Anything to get me away from the crippling pain. My heart was being torn in two.

The tugging began again, and I felt as though I were being lifted. Or was I falling? Sinking or floating, I could not tell anymore. A scream tore from my throat, and the dark engulfed me.

_Y nunca sabrá, lo mucho que lo amo…_

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**Was it too confusing? Does it need to be retooled? Or did I get my point across? Let me know! ****I guess it's kind of obvious what Caellen would mean… I tweaked the last name to make it more Spanish-sounding, but it's obviously not a translation or anything. **

**A****nd also, a little Spanish there for ya. Wanna know what that last bit says? PM me… I answer, I truly do… R&R!**


	4. Chapter 4

**So let's hear from Edward! Most chapters from now on will be his POV… unless I can work something out. Anyhoo, please review!**

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EPOV

The searing coffee burned the shit out of my tongue as I nearly spit it out. _Smooth, Cullen_. I fanned my mouth helplessly when my cell phone rang. _Sweet home Alabama_. I snickered—Jasper.

I pulled it out and hit Answer. "Hey, what's up?" His voice was drowned out by ear-piercing screams. I held the phone away from my ear and yelled, "Jasper, dude! Is that you?" Half the patrons at the Starbucks were now staring, but I ignored them.

The screams faded slightly. I heard rustling on the other end. "Edward? Sorry, man. I have a little situation here."

"So I hear. Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm at the hospital. I need your help."

"Why? Shit, what happened? Are my parents okay? Alice? Emmett? Rose? Dude, talk to me!" My voice went higher with panic. Hospitals and 'situations' were never good.

"Calm down, Edward. The family's fine. And thanks for asking about _me_, by the way. I'm fine."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So, what can I do for you?"

Jazz sighed. "Guess I'd better fill you in from the beginning. I was in a session with a patient. She was regressing, and everything was going normally. She'd been under for maybe ten minutes when she suddenly woke up screaming. I can't explain it at all. It was bone-chilling. I tried to calm her down, but she looked at me and I swear, she just got louder. She wouldn't let me touch her."

"Out of the blue like that? She just freaked?" I took my cup of coffee and headed out of the Starbucks. I climbed into my silver Volvo and jammed the key into the ignition.

"Yeah, I cannot explain it. I called Kate in, told her to prep a syringe with lorazepam and call an ambulance. The girl went down—the tranq hit her hard. She stopped resisting, but her eyes were _terrified_." Jasper sounded both worried and exhausted.

I drove out of the lot and made my way through the evening traffic. The hospital was just off the highway, and given the hour, probably fucking gridlocked.

"And why do you need my help? Did you call her emergency contact?"

"Yes, and her friend is on her way too. But I need you as a translator."

Huh. Weird. "Translator? Dude, I'm an artist, not a fucking language professor."

He snorted. "Yeah, an artist who doesn't actually _paint_, but that's not really the issue here. You speak Spanish, right?"

"Uh, no, I took French in college. Why Spanish? Your patient's foreign? How come you took her on?"

"No, she's not foreign. I really don't know how to explain this. You know how I told you he was screaming? Well, the few words she managed to speak were in Spanish. Edward, it's like she doesn't even remember who she is. Her English is completely _gone_."

"Think she's faking?" I was stuck behind this huge semi. Shit. I honked, as though that would get me there any faster.

"I know. I'd probably think that, but man, you didn't see her eyes when she woke up. Something went horribly wrong and I don't know what or how to fix it, for now."

"Carlisle?"

"I called, left a message at the hotel for him to call me. I could really use his help, but I don't want him to cut his trip short." My adoptive parents were enjoying a second honeymoon in Europe. Carlisle had been Jasper's mentor and even though I hadn't followed in his footsteps as a doctor, he had been more than happy to take his son-in-law under his wing.

"I'm on my way, but traffic's shit. I won't be able to help much, but call Alice. She's the one who speaks Spanish."

"Alice? Seriously? I never knew that." Jasper sounded very surprised.

"I thought for sure your wife would have mentioned it. She became pretty fluent one summer when she went down to Can—" I cut myself off abruptly.

"Cancún?" His voice fell flat.

"This was way before she met you. I think it was that summer before college." I rolled my eyes even though he couldn't see me. He could be very possessive and jealous where my sister was concerned. "Call Alice. I'm almost there."

"Okay, thanks. Ask for me when you get here. I'll come get you. I managed to get her a room. The tranqs wore off, and she panicked again. I don't want to dope her up before we get some answers. I signed on as her attending."

"Yeah, I'll see you. Bye." I hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. I didn't know if I'd be able to help for shit, but Alice probably would. The girl's case sounded completely fucked up, but in the realm of the mind, anything was possible.

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**Next chapter, they'll meet. R&R please!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Finally, Christmas break! I should have more time to update now, particularly after the 25****th****… plus I'm reading tons of great fics… keeping busy. Thanks to all who've put this on alert, and thanks for your patience. Please review!**

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EPOV

"Dr. Jasper Whitlock, please." I rushed to the nurses' station in the ER, and asked the first one I saw to page Jasper.

"Edward!" I whirled to find him sprinting down the hall towards me, waving. I nodded my thanks to the nurse and met Jazz halfway.

"So where is she?" We walked down together and turned the corner. The hospital was pretty busy that night. We dodged doctors and nurses and the occasional stretcher being wheeled through the hallways.

"Fourth floor. Her emergency contact got here a little while ago, and went in to try and talk to her. But like I told you, it's been useless. Bella—my patient—and this girl, Angela, are pretty close. Her friend's taking it hard. And I just feel like shit that I can't explain it to her. Or myself."

"You're taking it very hard, man." I ran my hand through my hair. We got into the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor. "I don't think it was anything you did at all. We'll have to give it some time."

"Do we even have time? What if her memories don't come back? It's like some type of delusional amnesia." The elevator opened with a _ding!_ and Jasper stepped out.

"Is Alice here yet?"

"She's waiting outside the room for Angela to come out. I wanted to give her friend a chance first."

That reminded me of something. "Oh, and before I forget, thanks for setting me up with that girl, Jessica. Do you really hate me that fucking much? She's heinous!"

"Edward, you didn't even _actually _go out with her. Alice told me you stood Jessica up, after _she_ called my wife, totally pissed off. How do you know she's heinous?"

"I Googled her. You wouldn't believe the shit pictures she posted on her MySpace…"

"You're one shallow ass, Edward."

"I prefer the term 'selective'. You lucked out with my sister."

"Me?" Alice bounded up to us and gave me a hug hello. "I think I lucked out with my Southern gentleman here."

"Oh, please, spare me." I hugged her back and lifted her off her feet. "Sorry I let it slip about the Cancún thing."

Alice's eyes narrowed at me. "You realize we almost made it five years without that getting out?"

Jasper shook his head. "It's okay. I just can't believe I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

"Learn something new every day." Alice planted a kiss on her husband's lips. It was disgusting how much they were in love. And then Emmett and Rose, my own parents… Honestly, it was hard to take when they were all in the same room together.

The door to room 417 swung open. A tall girl with long dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses stepped out. Her eyes seemed red behind them. I caught a series of strangled sobs coming from beyond the door, but couldn't see inside the room.

"I'm sorry." The girl blotted her eyes with a Kleenex. I remembered Jasper saying her name was Angela. "She doesn't remember me. I could barely understand a few words, but it's like… it's like that's not even _Bella_ in there. I don't know what to do."

"It's alright, Angela. Thank you for coming. We can still try a few things. My wife, Alice, speaks Spanish. She's going to try and talk to Bella now. I can't promise anything, but I'm still waiting for word from Dr. Cullen. He may know more about this than I do."

"I'm leaving for Seattle on business in a couple of days. Where is she going to stay? I would cancel the trip, but I can't. She doesn't have anyone else that she's close to here in Phoenix."

"Angela, I feel responsible for the situation. She'll stay here for at least another day, and then I'll see to it that she has proper living arrangements and someone to care for her while we sort this out."

Jasper wrote down information about where Angela would be staying while in Seattle, to contact her in case anything came up. Shaking her head, the girl finally left, shoulders slumped. It must have been hard for her to see her friend in that condition, in a hospital bed.

"So, ready?" Jasper turned to Alice, who nodded. "Start out slow, introduce yourself, and hopefully she'll respond to you. I think perhaps the fact that you're also a woman will help in this case."

"What do I do? Wait for you here?" I couldn't deny that I was very curious to see this girl for myself; yet I understood this to be a fucking delicate situation and didn't want to make it worse.

"I guess you can come in," said Jasper. "Just try not to say anything. We don't want to upset her further."

Alice knocked on the door, and poked her head in. I craned my neck to see inside, but all I could see was the vague outline of a body lying on generic hospital linens.

"_Hola. Puedo pasar?_" Alice's accent was pretty flawless. I heard a shocked gasp elicit form the bed and Alice held the door open wider. I walked in behind Jasper, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while checking out this girl.

She was pretty, in an unconventional way. Her eyes were wide and chocolate brown, and at the moment very red from crying. Her face was tear-stained, and her ivory skin was flushed. But in my artist eyes, what really caught my attention was the waterfall of dark mahogany hair that reached almost to her waist. I had the irresistible urge to run my fingers through it. _Focus! She's in a fucking hospital!_ Plus, she might or might not be totally crazy.

The girl's eyes were trained on Alice, shock at hearing Spanish still etched on her face. A crease formed between her eyebrows, which I wanted to smooth away with my fingertip. She didn't look at me.

"_Mi_ _nombre es Alice. Queremos ayudarte. Podrías decirnos cómo te llamas?_" Alice approached the bed carefully, as though afraid the girl might snap. It was quite possible she would. I only got the gist of the first part, where she had said 'Alice'. She was stating her own name. The second part I missed.

The girl still looked both surprised and worried. She cleared her throat and seemed to think out her response.

"_Yo soy Isabella María de Cisneros, marquesa del Nuevo Reino de León._" The words left her mouth haltingly, as though unsure. Again, I only understood the part where she said her name, apparently 'Isabella'.

"Alice? Can you translate?" Jasper asked softly. He smiled reassuringly at the girl, who now seemed more confused than scared.

"Well, you heard her name, obviously. Isabella María de Cisneros. Is that the name you have?"

"More or less. Her name is Isabella Marie Swan. But she goes by Bella." Jasper frowned. "What else did she say?"

"I told her we wanted to help her, and if she could tell us her name. She says she's a duchess or something… she mentioned the word kingdom, but it's not from any place I recognize." She paused. "Huh. Cisneros… her last name. _Cisne_ is swan, as in the bird." Alice shrugged.

"If she regressed, she might not be talking about a place that exists now. We'll have to do some research." Jasper pulled a small notepad from his coat pocket and produced a pen. He wrote down the information Alice had managed to procure. "Ask her if she knows where she is."

Alice turned to Isabella, and gave her a small smile. "_Sabes en dónde estás? Conoces este lugar?_"

Isabella shook her head, a hint of panic returning to her face. "_No sé. Todo aquí es extraño. Yo vengo de España, y llegué al nuevo continente hace varios años. Mi familia posee muchas tierras. Estoy esperando…_" she stopped and blushed a deep rosy red.

"What? What did she say?" I asked, frustrated. Jasper shushed me and I rolled my eyes. This was so fucking weird. How was she doing this? Pulling up random information and in a language she allegedly didn't even know?

"She doesn't know. She finds everything here strange. She says she is from Spain, but that she came to the new continent a few years ago. Her family owns a lot of land—and she says that she's waiting for something."

"The new continent?" Jasper looked puzzled. "She thinks this is a new continent?"

"That's what she said." Alice cocked her head. "_Esperando? Qué cosa?_"

The flush never left Isabella's face. "_Estoy_ _esperando a mi prometido. Eduardo Caellén_."

"Edward? Did she just say my name?" All heads swiveled to look at me. I felt her eyes on me and I returned her gaze, confused. It was the first time she had acknowledged my presence in the room.

Something flashed in her eyes. Recognition? Fear? Isabella clutched at something around her neck, something that wasn't there. She looked down, seemed to swallow hard. Her eyes went to her left hand, and she traced the fingers of her hand with the other.

"Did she say Edward?" Jasper repeated my question to Alice.

"It is the translation of his name. But she says she's waiting for her fiancé."

Jasper let out his breath in a huff. "I don't get it."

"_Por qué lo esperas? No está contigo?_" Alice asked her.

"_No_ _ha llegado aún. Eduardo viaja por mar._" Isabella blushed again at the mention of the name.

"She says that this Eduardo has not arrived, that he's traveling by sea." Alice thought for a moment. "I guess she means traveling by boat, or ship."

"Ship? Who the hell travels by ship nowadays?" Jasper was getting more and more frustrated. It was hard for him not to understand. Everything was usually clear to him, as it should be in the medical practice. But he dealt with people's minds—not everything was black and white.

Something occurred to me then. "Ask her what the date is."

"What?" Alice turned to me. Jasper raised an eyebrow.

"You know, like they do for people who hit their heads. Ask her what the date is." I looked at Jasper, who nodded at Alice.

"It makes sense. Ask her, Ali."

"Fine." She smiled at Isabella once more, and spoke in a soothing voice. "_Isabella, puedes decirme cuál es la fecha de hoy?_"

"_Sí_." I understood that myself, _yes_. "_Es el 20 de junio, del año mil seiscientos noventa y siete_."

Alice's face registered total shock. "_Mil seiscientos noventa y siete?_" she repeated.

Isabella nodded her head, as though it were something obvious. She still regarded Alice, Jasper, and me warily.

"Did she say June?" Jasper asked. Alice nodded slowly too, nonplussed. "Well, at least she got that right. What year?"

Alice raised her own eyebrow at him. It looked like a tennis match between them. I grew impatient.

"Alice? What_ year_?"

"She says it's June 20th, 1697."


	6. Chapter 6

**I will try to get most Spanish phrases translated by the characters, but if I miss something and want to know what it is, PM me, I always answer : ). Currently reading **_**Clipped Wings and Inked Armor**_**, by hunterhunting, amongst other things… I seriously cannot stop. I've been up till 4 AM reading it… it made me want to get my 4****th**** tattoo. **

--

EPOV

"I won't fucking do it, Jasper," I hissed. We were standing outside Isabella's room. Alice had remained with her, trying to pry more information out of her.

I had left soon after the girl had answered with that fucked up date. She kept glancing at me as though expecting me to pounce on her, or bite her or some shit. What freaked me out the most was that occasionally something like recognition would flash in her eyes. But why? I didn't know her at all—I'd never seen her before in my life.

As soon as I'd left the room, Jazz had followed and tried to spring this shit on me.

"She needs to be taken care of, Edward," he insisted for the fifth time.

"But not by _me_, and she's not really your responsibility!"

"But she is. She has no one else, man. Her only friend is leaving town, and she cannot be left on her own. It's only temporary, while Carlisle and I work something out." Jasper's voice dropped lower, a more convincing tone. "You're not working right now, and Bella would probably spend most of the day in bed. She's in no condition to move about."

"What's with this _Bella_ shit? I thought _she _said her name was Isabella… hold on… What does my not working have to do with taking care of her?" I asked, indignant. "You're not seriously suggesting that she stay at my place, are you?"

"No, of course not. She could stay at our house, and you'd be welcome to stay over too while Alice and I are out." He sensed weakness, that I might cave. I had to set him straight.

"Jasper, come on. Get a grip! Isabella should fake something a little more plausible. 1697? Why not 1987, or something actually believable? Jesus F. Christ!"

"Edward, please." Alice's soft voice startled us out of our argument. She shut the door behind her with a soft snicking noise. There was no more sobbing from inside the room. I took it as a good sign.

"So what else did she say? Did she happen to mention where she parked the DeLorean?" I asked sarcastically.

Alice sighed heavily. "I know it's frustrating, but I don't understand it either. She's convinced she's descended from Spanish royalty, and awaiting her fiancé, who is arriving—by ship—to marry her soon. She's adamant about that. What do you know about her, Jazz?"

"Just what she filled in her paperwork at the clinic before the sessions. There's no one else. Her parents died awhile back, and she has no brothers or sisters." He looked at his wife, and ran his hands through his hair. "Bella will need a place to stay, Ali."

"I know." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "It's fine by me if she stays over at our place."

"How about the psych ward instead?" I was definitely _not_ getting roped into babysitting the crazy chick.

"Edward, I swear to God—"

"Why can't you just keep her here?" I crossed my arms defiantly. Stand firm, Cullen.

"There's no medically relevant reason to keep her hospitalized—"

"Medically relevant? Dude, must I repeat it? 1697! This is beyond fucked up." I stepped back and made to go. Then Alice's voice cut my dramatic exit short.

"I'll pay you. By the hour." Shit. That sneaky little pixie. She knew I was a little short on cash at the moment. I wouldn't have access to my trust fund until next year, and the painting thing was not going so well. Shit shit shit.

"So I'd be like a glorified nanny?" I turned to my sister, defeated.

"It's not her fault, Edward. Anyway, it's only for a couple of weeks. I'll be around as much as I can, to help out. Especially since you don't speak the language…"

"You can use the attic space to paint, if you'd like. Move some of your easels and canvases." Jasper took Alice's hand and smirked. He had me there. Fuck.

I huffed, exasperated. "Fine. When does the crazy chick leave?"

Alice frowned. "Her name is Isabella."

"Uh-huh. What-the-fuck-ever. Jazz?"

"I'll arrange for her release tomorrow afternoon." He cleared his throat. "You can start moving in your stuff tonight."

"Yeah. I'll see you later." I spun on my heel and headed for the elevator bank again. I couldn't believe that I'd been talked into it. But Alice knew exactly how to get to me. When I reached my car, I climbed in, and hesitated before I started the Volvo.

As I made it out of the hospital parking garage, I executed a very wide and very illegal u-turn and drove back downtown. I slid into an empty space in front of the plate-glass storefronts. I marched resolutely inside the store, and went up to the salesgirl. "Excuse me? Where are your reference books?" Once she had pointed me in the right direction, I stood in front of the packed shelves.

Rows upon rows of English/Spanish dictionaries.


	7. Chapter 7

EPOV

I slammed the trunk of the Volvo down and tried not to drop the box in my arms. Jasper jerked his head towards the door and went into the house, also holding a cardboard box full of my stuff. Jazz and Alice had made good on their promise to let me turn their attic into my temporary art studio.

I followed Jasper into their huge colonial-style home. The Phoenix heat had not yet faded when I stepped into the coolness of the house. I trudged upstairs, all three flights of them, into the musty attic.

"Is there anything else you need brought up here?" he asked as I dumped the box right near the entrance.

"No, I already carried the easels up. You can put that one on the table, that shit's breakable." I wiped the sweat off my forehead on the edge of my shirt. The heat traveled up in almost-visible waves. I desperately needed to get a fucking electric fan up here or I'd die. "Let's go down, I'm fucking dying."

Once in the pristine kitchen, Jazz popped the caps off a couple of beers. I chugged mine down, slamming it on the countertop before reaching into the fridge for another.

"So…" Jasper still nursed the first beer, only on his third sip or so. "You think you can handle this?"

I snorted. "If you thought I couldn't, would you be entrusting me with this shit?"

"It's mostly Alice's doing. But I'm asking you."

"Yeah, I can handle it. And I still gotta ask you, dude. Have you considered the possibility that this is nothing more than a really elaborate scam?"

Jasper took another swig, tipping the bottle further back. He thought for a moment, and shook his head. "Nah. A scam for what? She's got more money than you—trust fund baby, too. Not to mention an inheritance. And she's not the type to want attention either, believe me."

"So why? Shits and giggles?" I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Shit, I felt rank. I'd have to shower soon, after I unpacked the boxes in the attic.

"I can't tell you much more than I already have. Doctor-patient confidentiality. But I've been reading up on regression cases similar to hers. It's very rare, what's happened to her. It's called delusional amnesia." Jasper finished his beer and rinsed out the bottle in the sink, adding both of mine. "What I can't figure out is the use of a foreign language of which she had no knowledge."

"That shit's fucked up, man." I remembered what Jasper had told me on the drive to his place, about Isabella's slow adjustment to being awake and off the tranquilizers; this had been an hour before I got there. She flat-out refused to eat the hospital food—not that anyone blamed her—but she was picking up the utensils and the plates and poking at the food as though she'd never seen anything like it. Although Alice translated the words for the food before her, Isabella shook her head and wouldn't touch it. So then she'd gotten hooked up to an IV, and _that_ hadn't gone over well, either. The beeping machine had freaked her out again, not to mention the needles.

"I can't wait for Carlisle to get here. I don't know if he'll have magical answers or what, but I'll feel better once he's on the case, too."

"What else can you tell me about her? That's not confidential?"

"Well," Jasper hesitated. "She works at Rose's. She's the hostess."

"And the thought of her cooking up some crazy lawsuit didn't occur to you?" I gaped at him in disbelief. "She obviously knew, Jazz."

"It's just a coincidence. I was referred to Bella by her friend Angela, whom you saw at the hospital. Plus, we don't have the same last name," he pointed out.

Shit. So crazy-chick worked at _Maison Rose_, but apparently didn't know my brother and his wife owned the place. I was still suspicious as hell, but whatever. As long as Alice paid up, I didn't care. But there was another thing that bugged me.

"Okay, Jasper, again, what's with the Bella shit? Crazy chick says her name is Isabella." I personally thought Bella suited her better—_beautiful_. But Alice's translations made use of the latter name.

"Her name _is_ Isabella. But my patient prefers Bella for short. Now this persona is referring to herself as Isabella," Jasper explained patiently.

"Huh. So what am I supposed to call her?" I rolled my eyes at his use of the word 'persona'.

"You'd better stick to what she calls herself now." Jasper smiled slightly before pushing himself away from the counter. "I'm going back to the hospital. We should be back tomorrow at one, discharge is at 12. Alice is helping to bring her home." With that, he waved at me and headed for the front door, grabbing his own car keys from a cracked-glaze bowl near the entrance, placed specifically for that purpose.

As if this were _her _home. I snorted again, shaking my head. Jazz and Alice were too much do-gooders for their own good. I headed upstairs again, pausing to pull off my sweat-stained shirt. It was sweltering in the attic, and it would only stick to my skin, adding to the heat.

I began unpacking the few boxes I'd brought, slowly making the dusty attic resemble a cramped but well-stocked art loft. The easy motions numbed me, stopped me from over-thinking the situation. Palettes, brushes, thinner, acrylics, watercolors, canvases, charcoal sticks, paper… they all blended together as I held them in my hands once more. I hadn't worked in so long…

As I walked down to the second floor, I thought about what tomorrow would bring. Alice was still bonding with Crazy Chick, speaking to her soothingly in Spanish. I was glad that she would be here as much as she could, since French was similar to Spanish, but not so much that I could speak it and be understood by the CC. Shit, I couldn't help thinking of her in those terms. The only good thing was that if I slipped and called it to her face, she wouldn't understand. Crazy Chick, Isabella… _Bella_.

I had claimed one of the three guest bedrooms in their insanely enormous house. _She _would be occupying the room next to mine. I flipped on the shower, shedding the rest of my grimy clothes. A flash of bright blue caught my eye before I closed the bathroom door. The Oxford dictionary I'd bought earlier, sitting on the nightstand. I couldn't imagine what had possessed me to do that; it felt like giving in, as though I believed her bullshit 'I'm-400-year-old-Spanish-royalty' story.

I'd forgotten to check, but I fervently hoped the dictionary included swear words.

--

**I find it odd that no one's asked me yet what the title **_**Regresa**_** means… it's not a huge secret, but either it's blatantly obvious or no one's really curious… not sure which. I'll be trying a different POV for next chapter… and hopefully have it up by tomorrow night. Please R&R!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Now I'm reading **_**Age of Consent**_**, by littlesecret84… I've always had a thing for older men, myself. **

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APOV

"_Qu__é son estos?"_ Isabella was holding up a pair of pants like she'd never seen one before. Well, if it was 1697 in her head, she probably did not expect to have to wear them.

"_Son pantalones_," I explained to her what they were. She looked askance at them; they were kind of worn and frayed, especially on the bottom where the ends dragged on the floor. But they were technically _her _own clothes.

"_No puedo usar esto. Sería inaceptable. Los caballeros usan pantalones. __Las damas de educación siempre portan vestidos._" Isabella shook her head and laid them back on the chair, crossing her arms over her stomach.

I didn't quite know what to say to that. She was claiming that to wear pants would be unacceptable, since only gentlemen wore them and ladies of good breeding always wore dresses. "Uh, okay…"

Despite Edward's ranting, I could see no guile or malice in Isabella's claims that she was from another time. I mean, I was here, helping her, talking to her, since no one else seemed to speak a lot of Spanish. The nurses had been completely perplexed, but thankfully Isabella's stay had not been for long. Now we had to get her out of the hospital and figure out how to bring this Bella girl back. And in order to do that, first I had to get her some clothes. Okay… let's find a dress.

I whipped out my cell and scrolled down my contact list until I found Rosalie's number. I glanced reassuringly at Isabella while she sat on the edge of the bed; she was eyeing the tiny silver phone in suspicion. I sighed—I did not have time to explain 2009 contraptions now.

"Alice?" Rose's voice came on the line.

"Hey, Rose, I need you to do me a favor."

"Um, sure, what can I do for you?" I heard her telling Emmett that it was me calling, and heard her husband boom out a very eloquent, _Wassup girl?_ I rolled my eyes and grinned.

"Well, I'm at the hospital helping a friend get dressed, 'cause she's just been released, but we sort of need a dress. Do you think we could borrow one? I didn't think to bring one, and I can't leave her alone right now."

"A dress? Sure, I guess I can do that… what room are you in?"

I gave Rose the details and suddenly thought of something else. "Oh, and Rosalie? Please make sure that the dress is long, like ankle-length, okay?" If Isabella had balked at the idea of pants, she certainly wouldn't wear a short dress either. 1697, remember?

"I'll see what I can scrounge up. See you in a few." I snapped the phone shut and turned to look at Isabella. She was entranced with the light switch that controlled the lamps right above her bed. This was so weird.

I remembered last night after Jasper had left us; he had tried to glean more information Isabella, but to no avail. I'd gone to the house while he was here, to freshen up and pack a small bag with stuff I needed to stay overnight with the girl. Edward had already settled in, watching _House _reruns on TV. When I got back to the hospital, and made up the uncomfortable couch provided for the patient's family members, I turned off the lights. When I did, Isabella let out the most blood-curdling scream, like she had in the beginning.

I turned them back on in a hurry, my heart slamming into my chest. "What? What's wrong?" Then I remembered, and switched languages. "_Qué pasa? Qué tienes?_"

"_La luz! A dónde se fue? Todo obscureció de repente_…" And then I got it. She freaked when the lights went off all of a sudden. I spent an hour convincing her that it was entirely possible to control electric lights with the simple push of a button. I think that was the most surreal conversation I've ever had.

I told Isabella that a friend was coming over with more appropriate clothing for her. She nodded and went back to examining the cables and switches on the wall. At least the IV had come out of her hand—boy, had _that_ been an experience.

I rummaged through Isabella's messenger bag, which I had found stashed in some cupboard doors in the room. There was a change of clothes, including some stockings, a black skirt, and a deep blue blouse. The skirt was modestly short, so I don't know what she was going on about. There was also a pair of beat-up chucks, and a pretty leather-bound notebook. I felt too much like an intruder, so I didn't rifle through its pages even though I really wanted to.

"Alice?" A soft knock came from the other side of the door. I walked over and pulled it open to find Rosalie standing there.

"Hey, Rose. Thanks for coming so fast." I stepped back to let her in. She glanced around and her eyes settled on Isabella.

"Oh, hi, sorry to intrude. I'm Rosalie," she said, waving half-heartedly. Isabella ignored Rose, having moved on to examine the pulley mechanism on the window blinds.

"Yeah, um, Rose? She doesn't speak English. Did you bring the dress?"

"Here you go." She handed me a shopping bag and I peeked in. Totally not Rosalie's style. It was a flower-print Laura Ashley casual dress. I pulled it out; it would be huge on Isabella, but at least she couldn't complain about the length. It would more than cover her ankles.

"Where did this dress come from? I know you didn't buy it for yourself." I walked over to Isabella as Rose settled into the uncomfortable turquoise couch. I tapped her on the shoulder, and held up the dress. She turned it over in her hands, tracing the flower pattern on the fabric. Finally, she shrugged, and extended her arms. Isabella made no move to remove the flimsy hospital robe herself. I sighed, and tugged at the strings holding the robe shut.

"I spilled wine on my outfit once at a dinner party at Esme's. She let me borrow that dress so I wouldn't spend the evening wet and uncomfortable." Rosalie glanced up as I removed Isabella's robe. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, should I leave?" Rose stood up and turned her back on us.

"That's alright. She seriously cannot understand a word we say." I had found a lacy bra in the messenger bag and pulled the straps over the girl's arms. I fastened the back, and watched as her eyes nearly bugged out at the sight.

"Did she just have a baby or something? Who is she?"

"Um, she's actually Jasper's patient… she had a little break down after a consult. Her name is Isabella." I drew the flowered dress over her head and managed to get her arms through the sleeves. It dragged three inches on the ground, but that was the best I could do.

"No English, huh?" Rose peeked over her shoulder, saw that Isabella was dressed now. She plunked herself down on the couch again. "Where is she from?"

"She's American, Rose. But right now, she can only speak Spanish." I presented Isabella with the option of wearing the chucks or the hospital slippers. _"Cuáles prefieres?"_ The look on her face was priceless as she gawked at the Converse.

"Spanish? Ha, so you finally told Jazz about your little stint in Cancún?" Rose snorted. She should know, she was there with me. We had spent a whole summer on the beach, chatting up gorgeous Mexican boys. I'd picked up the language pretty fast and fluently, though Rose had not bothered. And right now, Jasper was so worried about what had happened to Isabella that he hadn't asked as many questions, or seemed to care _why_ I spoke Spanish so long as I _did_.

"Edward sort of spilled the beans. But that is really the least of Jazz's problems right now." I looked about the room, making sure nothing was left behind. I grabbed Isabella's bag and took her hand gently in mine. "_Es todo por ahora. Nos podemos ir. Recuerdas a dónde te dije que iríamos?_" Do you remember where we're going now?

"_Habías dicho que por el momento, viviría contigo. Cómo dices que se llama esta ciudad?"_

"Phoenix." I repeated it phonetically for her. At least she did remember the part about living with us for now. Rose glanced at us quizzically, but I shook my head. Much too complicated to explain right now. I poked my head out of the room—shit. The halls were packed. I didn't think she'd react too well to all the people milling about. Thanks to Jasper, all the paperwork had been taken care of, but I still had to get her home. And 1697 would definitely _not_ react well to the outside world of 2009.

"Okay, Rose? I promise to explain as soon as I can what's going on. In the meantime, do you think you could grab her other hand and help me walk her out?" I could already sense resistance in Isabella's body. She held a nervous stance, almost digging her slipper-clad feet into the linoleum.

"Sure," she hesitated. As she took Isabella's hand, the girl recoiled. I tried to soothe her.

"Isabella? _Ella es mi amiga. Se llama Rosalie. Está aquí para ayudarte, de acuerdo?"_ I told her Rose was a friend, here to help.

"I just heard my name in all that. Good to see you didn't forget Mexico." Rosalie stepped out into the hallway, almost dragging us with her. I could tell her patience was kind of short today, and would take little bullshit from this strange girl who did not—or would not—speak English. I followed, my hands on Isabella's body, whispering reassuring words to her.

I tried for a second to put myself in her shoes. _If _ I were really 400 years old, and got dumped into the future world, full of technology and people and speed… I could almost flinch at the way people jogged around us, bumping into us. The noise from the PA system, the gurneys, and—shit, the _elevators_.

We reached the bank, and thankfully an empty one opened right before us. I chanced a glance at Isabella's face. It was beyond horrified. Her eyes were wide and uncomprehending. I pushed her gently inside. She had both Rose and me in a death grip. Her short nails were digging painfully into my arm. I caught Rosalie's eye and she rolled hers at me.

As the elevator suddenly dropped and began its descent, Isabella let out a tiny squeak. "_Qué es esta caja? Por qué se mueve?"_

"What's she saying?" Rose asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"She… she's asking what this box is, and why is it moving." The last part came out as a question and Rose almost choked.

"Seriously? She called the elevator a _box_? Jesus, is she for real?" I could tell Rosalie wanted to drop Isabella's hand and get as far away from her as possible.

"I told you, it's a long story. I'll explain later." I turned to Isabella. _"Se llama elevador. Sirve para subir y bajar grandes distancias_._"_ Again with the surreal conversations; I couldn't believe I was explaining how an elevator works to an adult woman.

We went all the way down to the parking garage. She barely had a chance to glance at the elevator doors close behind us—on their own!—before Rose was pulling her towards my yellow Porsche.

"Where's your car?" I tried to glimpse her flashy red BMW, but it was nowhere in sight. "On another level? I can drive you to it." We stood next to my car and Isabella was trying to look at her reflection on the tinted windows. I tugged on her hands and got her to look at me. I shook my head at her.

"Emmett gave me a ride. He was headed to the restaurant to check some stuff out. I can just go back to your place…" she trailed off. She was now openly staring at Isabella. Recognition suddenly flashed in her eyes. "Wait, wait! I know this girl! I hired her! She works at _Maison_! I interviewed her myself!"

"Yeah, Jasper mentioned that. I didn't know you had seen her personally, though."

"Well, she spoke English then! What the fuck, Alice? I'm still waiting on that explanation."

"Fine," I huffed. "Give me a second." I rooted in my purse for the keys, and Isabella jumped back with a little scream as the car beeped.

"Dear God." Rosalie yanked open the back door and looked at me. "How are we going to get her in?"

"Let's strap her in." I gestured for Isabella to get inside. I smiled encouragingly as she approached the Porsche, running her hands on the glossy finish. Finally, she ducked her head and sat on the smooth leather seat.

"_Qué es esto?"_

"_Es un carro—"_

"_Carro? Entonces dónde están los caballos?"_

"Okay, what the hell is this about? I really don't like being left out of the loop here."

"She's asking about horses. I told her this was a car, but in Spanish, it can also mean like a carriage."

"Horses? You mean horsepower, right?"

"Nooo… I mean actual horses. Shit, Rose, I think Jasper would do a better job explaining. It's complicated, I told you." I bent at the knees, peering into the car's interior. Isabella was looking between Rose and me as though it were a tennis match. Her face was still clueless.

I sighed. "_Es un automóvil. Es una especie de carro que utiliza una fuente de energía que lo hace moverse por si solo, a grandes velocidades._" A car; it uses an energy source that makes it move by itself at great speeds. That was a pretty succinct explanation for a car, right?

I leaned over her and buckled her seatbelt. Rose and I slid in front. I started the car; I loved my little Porsche. I loved the engine's roar as it fired up and got warmed up…

I circled the parking lot, looking for the exit. I couldn't have been going more than 20 miles per hour. I hit the toll booth and fished the ticket out of my bag. I handed it to the booth attendant and smiled in thanks. I looked to my left as I left the hospital parking garage. The engine purred as I sped up.

"Um, Alice?" Rose asked worriedly.

"Yeah?" I looked at her for a moment.

"Homegirl looks like she's going to shit herself."

"Oh, fuck." I glanced at the rearview mirror and caught Isabella's reflection. She looked absolutely terrified. I gazed on and off at her as I quickly found my way onto the highway and sped up. The flow of traffic did not allow me to slow down at all, so I had no choice but to keep up with the speed. A huge trailer rig sidled up next to the Porsche by Isabella's window. Once the girl turned at the noise of the huge engine, she began screaming. I mean full, blown-out _screams_. She looked wildly about and finally noticed the cars that hurtled past us. Her screams did not let up.

"Whoa, Alice, we have to calm her down!"

"Isabella! Isabella! _No pasa nada, todo está bien! __Escúchame! Está bien!" _I was trying to both look at her and keep my eyes on the road at the same time, but it wasn't really working. Rose started repeating my Spanish words, with a terrible pronounciation, but at least she could turn completely in her seat and try to calm Isabella directly.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I signaled and flipped on my blinkers. I swerved to avoid a Sentra and finally exited the highway. I could take the speed down and finally pulled over.

"Okay, okay, we're done, see? It's okay! _Ya no nos estamos moviendo!_" I tried to tell her we were no longer moving, but she was still gasping and her breath was hitching. That's when I noticed the red mark on her cheek. I turned to Rosalie, shock and anger mingling equally.

"Oh, come on, Alice. She was hysterical. She totally stopped screaming." Rosalie shrugged. I shook my head, pulling my hand over my face. Smacking the delusional Spanish princess might not seem completely kosher, but that had Rosalie written all over it.

"_Estás bien? Te lastimó demasiado?_" I asked Isabella if she was alright, if Rosalie had hurt her much. The girl shook her head, but placed her palm on the stinging red slap. I hadn't been on the receiving end of one of those, but I could imagine.

"Now what?" Rose asked, peering at the distraught Isabella, the tears barely drying on her face.

An idea suddenly occurred to me. I pulled the light decorative scarf from my neck and held it speculatively up to Rosalie. She shrugged and nodded. I leaned over my seat and gestured for Isabella to move closer. I lifted my hands up and showed her the scarf.

"_Te voy a vendar los ojos. Así no tendrás miedo. Todo va a estar bien, no te preocupes."_ She nodded and hiccoughed as she wiped her eyes clean. Isabella closed her eyes as the smooth silk of the scarf touched her face. I knotted it behind the crown of her head and made her sit back into the seat. She was still buckled in, her breathing calming down. Thank God.

I started the car again, trying really hard not to gun the engine. I made it back on the highway, driving at an insanely slow speed. I ignored the honking behind us, and gave some of the rudest drivers the finger, which Rosalie was only to happy to do as well.

"Alice…" she said finally, as we rounded on the driveway to my house.

"Yeah, Rose?"

"What the fuck is going on with this girl?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

--

**I almost scrapped this. Tell me if it's all over the place or if it needs tweaking. I might pull it and rewrite, but I need some input. R&R pretty please?**


	9. Chapter 9

**2010… whoa…**

--

EPOV

She had walked in the front door, supported by Alice, wearing what can only be described as a 'mom-dress'. I noticed she tended to cringe away from Rosalie, but didn't understand why until Alice explained both the get-up and the fact that Rose had been 'forced' to slap the girl in the Porsche when she was frightened into hysterics by the Phoenix noonday traffic.

I had scrambled to my feet, wiping my Cheeto-orange hands on my jeans before being formally re-introduced to the Crazy Chick.

"_Lo recuerdas? El es mi hermano, Edward._" I extended my hand to her slowly when all I could understand from Alice was the word 'brother' and my own name. She had looked at my hand warily, leaving it hanging there a second more than was comfortable before reaching out with her own. Except that she didn't place it sideways in mine for a normal handshake. She placed her fingertips against mine and bent her wrist until her hand was vertical. Shit, like an old movie—she expected me to _kiss_ her fucking hand? Alice had let out a laugh that she quickly tried to disguise as a cough.

I stood there like an asshole, trying to decide whether to comply before just sort of squeezing her fingers lamely and dropping her hand. I wiped my hand discreetly on my jeans again; my hand was fucking sweaty. The girl was still staring at me, her lips mouthing words silently. Finally, she smiled slightly at me, and whispered, "Eduardo." Well, that certainly _sounded _like my name.

"What's that she said?" I asked Alice.

"Yeah, that's your name, in Spanish. Do you mind if she calls you that?"

"Uh, I guess," I mumbled. Chick was freaky. I mentioned to Alice that Jazz had called, that he would be home for dinner at seven. Alice took the girl upstairs to show her the other guest room where she'd be staying. Rose hung out with me, and we spent the afternoon going over what Alice had explained to her and the stuff I'd witnessed myself. The only thing we could agree on—for lack of better answers—was how fucked up the whole thing was.

And then, dinnertime.

I still couldn't get over the way this chick sat ramrod-straight in the dining room chair. Her hands flitted gracefully over her plate, sniffing her food before she put it in her mouth—she held the fork and knife in the strangest way. Crazy Chick looked absolutely baffled when presented with the meal Alice had prepared: chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and collared greens. Alice was always preparing Southern dishes for Jasper. She told us the girl had actually tried to help her out in the kitchen, since it was a woman's job to cook (the girl's own words) but Alice had kicked her out when the kitchen appliances overwhelmed her.

I hated to admit it, but it was oddly fascinating to observe as this girl with impeccable table manners (despite the sniffing) attempted to navigate what to her must be a very strange world. Despite the outfit, and after the red mark had faded from her cheek, I could sort of see beyond the crazy façade. Watching her, apparently oblivious to my stare, I half-listened as Alice told us what the girl had revealed that afternoon. I had yet to speak to her directly.

"Isabella says she comes from a place called Asturias, in northern Spain. That's where she was born, but then her family moved to… the new continent, she calls it _Nueva Epaña_, or New Spain. Jazz, we really need to Google this stuff, check out where she's coming from. Yes, Edward, I realize she could have done exactly the same thing to trick us all."

Alice startled me out of my reverie for a moment, and the girl glanced up to meet my eyes. _Eduardo. _It didn't sound half-bad. "Uh-huh, Alice. I know."

She continued. "Her family owns—or owned, I guess I should say—a lot of land. They were really wealthy. Big house, servants, you name it. Isabella says she was engaged to be married before she left Asturias." Chick looked up at the mention of her name, smiling blandly at Alice. My sister returned the smile. "And she was still waiting for him to join her. There were big wedding plans underway, before she found herself here." Alice popped her fork in her mouth. "That's the last thing she remembers, working with her mother on stuff for the wedding."

"Fascinating," I muttered sarcastically as I watched the girl take a whiff out of her glass before sipping the water slowly. Fucking strange shit.

When we finished eating, Jasper began clearing the table, and I helped. Isabella looked at us in confusion. I could have bet the money in my trust fund that men were not supposed to do this either. I grinned at her and shook my head. She stared back with her eyebrows furrowed. This time, I was close enough that I could read the word off her lips.

"Eduardo…"

--

"You should practice some of the Spanish on her, you know. However will you manage tomorrow? Jazz and I gotta work." Alice and I sat in front of the laptop, trying to find more information on Crazy Chick based on the info she had spilled.

"Yeah, I know. I'll have to try." I punched some keys, but no dice.

"Here, let me type," Alice said. "We might find more if I write in Spanish." She made to push me out of my swivel chair.

"Fine," I grunted as I scooted over. We had already found Asturias on Google maps, and the Spanish countryside did look pretty idyllic—all green and hilly and shit. It was like time hadn't passed at all. I wondered if _she_ would recognize it through pictures; it might work, some other day. She was currently asleep, after Jasper had given her half a sleeping pill.

I looked over Alice's shoulder as she typed in _nueva españa_, and came up with restaurant and newspaper names. "Click on images," I suggested.

First icon that came up was a map of what looked like Mexico, shaded in red. It also included a great big chunk of the United States, what was now California, Texas, Arizona of course, and everything in between up to the Dakotas. Shit. Then some old-timey looking maps popped up.

"Quick, check Jasper's notes," Alice urged. I flipped through the legal notepad Jazz wrote in that day in the hospital. I skimmed through it. I followed the words with my finger until I found it.

"Shit, Alice, look. This is what she said. It's right there on the map." I gave the notebook to Alice as I squinted at the blurry image. _Nuevo Reino de León._

"Northern Mexico. Well, if she is lying, at least you know she did her homework."

I snorted. "Sure. Why go at it half-assed, right?"

"Let's look up her name." Alice typed furiously, her tapping kind of loud. The girl's name didn't come up directly, but the _Cisneros _was highlighted all over. Alice clicked on a Spanish link, explaining that it was like a genealogy site of sorts. "It tells you were your family name comes from." It was all foreign to me, of course, so I leaned back in the chair while Alice read the screen.

"Anything?"

"Well, there are Cisneros all over Spain, obviously, including Asturias. But it does say something about the families being closely tied to the kingdom of Spain."

"As in, she's really fucking royalty?" My voice was colored with disbelief.

"Sort of. Her family could have been placed somewhere in the line of succession." She typed some more, and read quietly to herself. "Here. She said she was a _marquesa_. That means marchioness… a really old-fashioned title. But it ranks up there with dukes and earls and stuff."

"No shit. Then—"

A muffled scream cut me off mid-sentence. We both glanced up before scrambling out of the stupid swivel chair and I tripped over the wheels.

"FUCK!" I cursed while picking myself off the floor. My heart was hammering like a bitch, the adrenaline spiking. The cry had pierced the silence of the house like a knife. Once on the second floor, I detoured into my own room, where I grabbed the blue Oxford dictionary. I finally made it upstairs to Crazy Chick's room, where Alice was already comforting her with what I assumed were soft Spanish platitudes.

"She had a nightmare, that's all," Alice said to me quietly.

I rifled through the dictionary quickly, searching for the words. "Um… _todo estar bien_." It came out sounding like a question: _everything will be alright_.

The girl was sitting up in the bed, with Alice's arm around her shoulders. She glanced up, cocking her head to the right as she processed my broken Spanish. She sniffled, nodding slowly. Shit, she understood what I tried to say!

"Solid effort, Edward. You might want to conjugate the verbs once in a while, though." Alice grinned.

"Shut up." I gave her the finger, and shut the Oxford with a bang. Crazy chick started a bit, bringing her hand up to wipe the residual tears from her face. Her eyes were oddly intense in the dim light of the lamp beside her. The yellow light burned some reddish streaks in her deep brown hair. It hung loose down her back, framing her face. I wanted to match that exact color on a palette, dipping my fingers in the paint, thick and rich. And then the girl's words took me out of my reverie, again whispering my Spanish name.

"Eduardo…"

I didn't know what to answer.

--

**I know I don't have to have an iced vanilla latte when I write, but I do it so much better when I do. Reviews are like Edward running his fingers through ****your hair.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I'm so so so sorry… if there are still any readers out there, I owe you a most sincere and profuse apology for not updating sooner… my vacations are sadly over and writing time severely diminished… enough adjectives, let's spend the day with Edward and 400-year-old Bella.**

--

"Shit, Alice, I don't think I can do this." I ran my hands through my hair nervously and glanced at the girl. She was standing a few feet away, watching us warily. I gave her a quick once-over, startled at how different she looked. Alice had thankfully gotten rid of the horrible mom-dress, and dressed her in a long flowing skirt and blouse. In a pair of summer sandals and her hair loose about her face, she looked kind of bohemian… pretty, even.

"You'll be fine. Here, I made this for you." Alice pulled out a sheet of paper. I read it quickly to myself. "It's a list of some useful Spanish phrases with phonetic pronunciation. It won't really help with casual conversation, but it's something."

"Um… have you… does she…" I gestured towards the guest bathroom with my head and raised my eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah. Last night, I showed her how to work the bathroom." She shook her head. "The flushing really freaked her out." Alice stifled a laugh.

"Anything else I should know?" I really didn't want her to leave me here alone with Crazy Chick. What if she had another panic attack? What the fuck could we talk about? Was I supposed to entertain her, or just leave her up to her own devices?

"Do _not _drive with her anywhere. In fact, try not to leave the house, unless it's an absolute emergency. We really can't have you slapping Isabella," Alice said. She looked at the girl as she spoke; she cocked her head to the side as she heard her own name. Alice smiled reassuringly. "_Debo irme, pero Eduardo estará contigo por hoy. No te preocupes, él cuidará bien de ti."_

"I don't think that's on the sheet, right?" I held the paper at arm's length, but there was only stuff about going to the bathroom and being hungry or thirsty.

"I told her that you'd be staying with her today, and that you would take good care of her." Alice rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "I'll try to be home as early as I can, but if you really need me call me, okay? Bye!" Her voice trailed off as she banged the front door behind her.

I glanced at the girl, who was still just standing there, perfectly straight and oddly demure. _You're getting paid by the hour,_ I reminded myself. _Suck it up, dude_. I stepped closer to her and took a deep breath. She automatically took a step back and made a weird sort of curtsy. What. The. Fuck.

"Um, look…would you like to sit down?" I gestured uselessly towards the couch as I walked around her and sat down myself. She raised her head and smiled tentatively. Crazy Chick took a seat next to me, spreading her skirt around her gracefully. With her hands cradled in her lap, she alternated between staring at the floor and peeking covertly through her eyelashes at me. A couple of minutes passed, and not a word was said. Talk about awkward.

And it was barely nine o'clock.

Alice had pounded on my door at eight, causing me to hurl myself off the bed. In my sleep-soaked state, I was sure I was still at my tiny studio apartment, and the banging at the door was my fucking landlord or something—maybe a home invasion. Then I really focused on the décor, all unmistakably my sister's handiwork. And I remembered. I had a job for the day.

We just _sat_ there, not talking, barely moving. The silence was soon heavy, almost crackling in the air around us. I thought she might be waiting for me to speak. I didn't know if it was plain awkwardness or some throwback thing from her alleged time. Either way, no words. Nothing. Zilch.

"Uh… okay. Let me see," I said. I took Alice's list and spoke phonetically. _"Tee-eh-ness am-breh?" _Alice had typed translations next to each phrase: Are you hungry?

Crazy Chick shook her head no. I tried the next one. _"Tee-eh-ness said?" _Thirsty? Again, no. Christ on a cracker, this was going to be a long-ass day. Unless I could figure out how to try and converse with this girl. I didn't want to lounge in front of the TV all day, but it sounded really tempting. Alice was just paying me to watch her, not perform a song and dance. Shit.

"So…" I shrugged my shoulders. I hoped she would take it—

"_Me recuerdas a alguien que conocí hace tiempo."_ Holy shit, she was talking to me. Wait, fuck, what the hell is she saying?

"I'm sorry? I don't… understand you." I flipped Alice's paper over, but the back was blank. Then I remembered the stupid Oxford sitting next to my bed. "Okay, I'll be right back. Don't move." I held my hands out to her in the universal sign for 'stay put' and pointed to the ceiling, indicating I'd go upstairs. I ran to my room, grabbing the dictionary and racing down again.

I rifled through the pages on the Spanish section, looking up her words. _Recuerdas… recuerdas… _ all I came up with was _recordar, _which apparently was the infinitive form of the verb. It meant 'remember'. Okay, we're getting somewhere. Then there was _alguien_. The pages stuck together, and she watched me as I went through the Oxford like a deranged man. I found the word, it meant 'someone'. She remembered someone? Was that what she was trying to tell me? Shit, I'd forgotten what she said.

"Um, can you—I mean," I stammered, looking up the translation for 'repeat'. _"Repetir? Por favor?" _

The girl regaled me with a shy smile. _"Me recuerdas a alguien que conocí hace tiempo." _Wow, she'd understood me again. At least she was smiling at me in my lame attempt to speak her language. For a split second, and for the first time in my life, I regretted taking French instead of Spanish. Then I snapped out of it—fuck that, I'd always loved French! It was elegant and sophisticated. I'd no idea I would one day babysit some Crazy Chick who suddenly forgot her native tongue.

Meanwhile, I had to focus. I had another word, _tiempo_. I got to the T's in the Oxford, and it said 'time'. Holy fuck, this was getting us nowhere.

"_Tal vez tú deberías enseñarme tu idioma." _Shit, now I had an entirely new phrase to try and translate with the dictionary. This could take all day. And then it hit me.

"Fuck this shit. Oxford sucks ass. Wait here." I held my hands out to her again before I dashed to Jasper's office. I snatched the laptop off his desk and powered it up as I walked back to the living room. The girl's eyes grew wide as she stared at the computer; I set it on the coffee table and sat on the floor in front of it. As soon as I opened a browser window, I went to an online translation site. I typed in her words.

And there it was. With the simple click of a button, Spanish. Fucking Spanish. Crazy Chick had just told me that perhaps I should teach her _my_ language. No shit, Sherlock, I wanted to say to her. Maybe you should try to _remember_ it on your own.

"Ugh, I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Here," I told her as I typed in the text box what I wanted to say. _"Queer-ehs aprender een-glehs?" _Do you want to learn English? The pronunciation was probably shot to hell, but at least I was making an effort. Alice was going to give me a complex.

The girl blinked, and nodded. Fuck , she nodded! Okay, this was getting a tiny bit easier. I frowned, thought for a minute, and began typing words. A brief vocabulary lesson was sure to kill an hour or two.

Hopefully.

--

"Watch your step," I warned, even though she couldn't understand me. I pulled the girl into the attic, which was stifling. I quickly plugged in the extension cord to the portable fan I'd brought up a couple of days ago. It pushed the stale air around in a breeze, mildly cooling us. I still clutched the laptop with my free arm. I was still getting a wireless signal; I set it on the wooden table and typed in a phrase.

"_Me gusta pintar," _I told her. I like to paint. I pointed out the canvases leaning against the far wall, and waved at the rest of my art materials. She lost her cautious step, wandering around and touching the charcoals and trailing over the pastels. She rubbed at the chalky color residue on her fingertips. The girl smiled.

I stood by one of my easels. I watched as she inspected everything, her curiosity winning over her trepidation. I had managed to teach her a few English words, and she learned with surprising speed. I shook my head, still amazed.

The girl finally noticed the small window. The midday sunshine poured in, the only light source in the place at the moment. She practically ran to it, her hands curling on the windowsill as she gazed at the street and yards below. I could see her face in profile, her expression filled with innocent wonder. She lifted her long hair into a pile on top of her head, and I could see beads of perspiration on the nape of her neck. With a soft sigh, she let her hair drop down again. The light caught the red streaks hidden in the wavy locks. My fingers itched; and I knew what I wanted to do.

I picked up a blank canvas, medium-sized. I set it against an easel and adjusted the height. I picked up the case of oil pastels, and began sketching. I worked fast, almost feverishly. She still hadn't turned around, and the outline of the picture was very rough. But I didn't think it would look any better than if I had days to work on it.

It was a woman, and all you could see was the back of her. She had dark brown hair, a rich mahogany. I painted over with different shades of brown, the pastel sticks staining my fingers too. It took maybe all of five minutes, but it was enough. The girl finally glanced over her shoulder at me, smiling. I met her eyes over the canvas, and the corner of my mouth lifted briefly in response. I hadn't painted anything in awhile.

The girl came over and stared while I added a few touches here and there. I finally signed my name in the corner. She reached out to touch the outline of the girl's head. Her fingers pulled back before she actually touched the canvas, and she stroked her own hair instead.

"_Soy yo?" _Her hand went to her chest, and I didn't need fucking Babelfish to tell me what she'd asked.

"Yes, it's you. Sort of." I offered her a lopsided smile as I nodded.

For once, the picture was worth a thousand words.

--

**Yeah, that's what happens with bilingual dictionaries. Just buy a phrasebook, or be like Edward and Google that shit. Reviews get you a portrait by Artward. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Good God… another chapter! Crap should start picking up after this… sorry for the delay… and my obsessive use of ellipses.**

--

That night, Jasper, Alice, and I sat around the phone having a discussion on speakerphone with my father. Carlisle had finally gotten through and was in the midst of praising Jasper for the way he was handling things.

"Well, Jasper, I do agree with you that taking her in would probably be better for her recovery than placing her under psych care. How is she doing?"

"She stayed with Edward today, dad. He'll be taking care of her during the day when Jazz and I are working." She raised her eyebrows pointedly at me, encouraging me to speak to our father.

I sighed. Shit; there was nothing to tell, not really. Other than the breakthrough discovery of using the internet to quickly translate what we were saying to each other, the day had passed in relative ease.

"The girl is fine. A little kooky, maybe, a little awkward, but it was okay. I guess." My lack of enthusiasm clearly spoke volumes and Carlisle went on one of his tirades.

"You guess? What I hear is that Jasper trusts you with this and the best you can do is _okay_?" His voice blared through the speaker and the disappointment in it was evident. "That news is not exactly thrilling—"

"Yeah, really, are we having this argument again?" I ran my hands through my hair in frustration, trying to keep my voice down. I glanced at the ceiling; the girl was sleeping, and I didn't want to wake her up with an argument. Especially an argument with a fucking phone.

"Edward, you know that both your mother and I love you and…" We heard some rustling and shuffling on the other side of the line. Jazz and Alice traded glances, looking uncomfortable for my sake. We heard Carlisle whisper, "Honey, I got this," before coming back on the phone.

"It's not about you not loving me, dad. I know you're disappointed that I didn't choose to be a doctor like you. I'm an artist."

"Your mother and I have always respected your choices, Edward. We're proud of your talent, that you're an artist, but you're not even doing _that_."

"Then you'll be glad to hear that I painted again today," I blurted out. Alice smirked, and Jasper nodded in approval. "But really, that's not why you called. What can we do to help this girl?" I tried to bring the conversation back on track and try to deal with the real issue.

"Fine. I'll be calling you to talk about that later. But for now… Isabella, is that correct?" Carlisle asked.

I whooshed in relief, glad to deflect the subject away from me. I pushed the phone closer to Jazz and allowed myself to sag into a desk chair.

"Isabella brought her past life story to consciousness. That can create delusions." Carlisle was once again clinical, detached. "I would advise you to regress her, to try again."

"I've been trying to give her a chance to get back on her own, talking to her… but it's harder to do when it's all Spanish."

"Castilian," I said absently, fooling around with a pen cap I'd found lying on the desktop.

"What?" Alice looked up from the notes she was taking. "Castilian?" Jasper was still deep in conversation with our dad.

"Oh, um… well, I looked some shit up online, you know. Technically, it's not Spanish she's speaking, but Castilian. _Castellano_?" I scratched my head uncomfortably, unsure of why I was divulging this random bit of information. "Anyway, based on the region she says she's from, it's not like a dialect, really, because it's still Spanish, not like Basque or something…" I trailed off, catching a strange gleam in Alice's eyes. "What?"

"Nothing. Didn't think you'd research that. Or anything, really. Nice to see you've broadened your interests." She went back to her note-taking, a smile at the corners of her mouth.

Damn that smirk. It made me want to give her a noogie or pull her hair. I felt she was deliberately keeping something from me, and all she was missing was sticking her tongue out.

"Okay, thanks for getting back to me, Carlisle. I really appreciate it." Jasper was wrapping up the conversation.

"Say hi to mom for me. Tell her to please ask for the purse at the flagship store in Barcelona, and that it's under my name. We'll see you soon!" Alice nudged me and nodded towards the phone.

"Uh-huh. When are you coming back?" I asked.

"Next week. We'd really like to see more of you, Edward. If you'd let us," he said in a softer voice. I knew he was really trying; the part about me not being a doctor was just part of my own insecurities as a failed artist. Or what felt like failure, anyway.

"Yeah, dad. We'll talk more when you get back. And I know mom is listening in on the receiver. Don't worry—I'm eating, showering, and earning money honestly, mom." I rolled my eyes as my mother cleared her throat on the other side of the Atlantic.

"Fine, Edward. Take care of yourself, please. I love you—all of you, darlings. We'll be back before you know it." Mom's voice was getting sort of teary, so I ended the call quickly.

"So you'll try another regression?" Alice was flipping the pages in her notebook back and forth.

"In a couple more days, I think. I'm still hoping to find some other trigger to bring her consciousness back," he said. He looked tired and peaked around the eyes. "Carlisle said he'd try to rustle up more information on her possible ancestry while he's in Spain. Who knows?"

"Well, I'm no doctor, but I think you're right." Alice placed her hand over her husband's, and squeezed it sympathetically. "How about you go to bed now? I'll be up in a moment."

Jasper nodded, and kissed her cheek. "Don't be long." He stood up and stretched, waving at me as he left the den. "Night, man."

"Yeah, see you." I settled back into the chair, gripping the armrests. Alice noticed my white knuckles, and I was quick to bring my hands back into my lap. "What? What is it?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Nothing. I was just wondering… how did your day go?"

"I already told you." I shrugged. "We hung out. I traded the Oxford for a laptop, and we managed to make some headway conversation. We had lunch." I didn't want to get into how I managed to heat food up in the microwave in front of 400-year-old Chick.

"And when did you manage to fit in some art time?" Alice asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh, well… I thought I'd kill some time showing her the studio in the attic. And, um, I guess… inspiration struck or some shit." I didn't know why I felt embarrassed to admit I had practically done a portrait of _her_, so I didn't mention my subject.

But Alice wasn't fooled. "What did you paint?"

"I used pastels, actually." I didn't answer her question directly, and she knew it. But miraculously, she didn't press me any further.

"No major mishaps?" She stood up and laid the notebook next to the phone. "You didn't try to leave the house, did you?"

"No, I already told you. We just hung out."

"Did she have any trouble using the ladies' room?" I shook my head no. Alice snorted. "The first time I showed her how to flush, she ran out of the bathroom—she thought the water moving by itself and the rushing sound were the work of demons."

I laughed out loud. "Demons? Seriously? You're making shit up."

"Really. And just be glad you didn't turn on the TV. I tried that, just to see if it triggered anything by chance. She was totally freaked by 'the tiny people who live in a box'."

I hadn't laughed so much in awhile. I told her about teaching her English, and how quickly she picked up the random phrases I'd taught her. We traded some stories about the girl, before she shook her head and yawned. I waved her off, so she could join Jasper upstairs.

"Edward?" Alice gripped the door frame and leaned her head against it.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you stopped calling her Crazy Chick."

"Oh." I shrugged. I hadn't realized I'd stopped doing that. "Whatever. Good night, sis."

I stayed in the den, picking up the lone pen and ripping a sheet out of Alice's notebook. I doodled meaninglessly, turning the page over when it was full. I sketched quickly, my mind's eye wandering over the events of the day. It was amazing how much overlap there was already between her strange delusional life and mine.

Finally, I pulled the page closer, and stared at it. I had drawn _her_, as she had looked standing close to me, as she reached out to touch her likeness on the canvas. Only now, she looked as though she could be reaching out to me.

_You remind me of someone I used to know_, her voice whispered to me.

I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the garbage can.


	12. Chapter 12

**You guuuuuuuys! I'm really happy that so many of you have made this story your favorite and/or added it to you alerts… which is why you get another chapter! **

--

"I should really learn to just shut the fuck up," I grumbled. I huffed as we stood at the door of the girl's apartment. Alice was fumbling through the messenger bag until she unearthed a set of keys with a weird-ass keychain in the shape of an old-school Nintendo controller.

"Seriously?" Alice held the keychain away from her as if in disgust. Both of us turned to look at the quiet girl standing behind us. She was fiddling with a tie-dye print scarf, returning our stare quizzically.

It had been another ordeal getting her into the Porsche. She only acquiesced when I squeezed into the backseat with her, blindfolded, and held her hand on the ride over to her apartment.

I couldn't have felt more like a fucking stalker. I had casually mentioned to Alice about the existence of the messenger bag, just lying uselessly on the floor of the girl's room. Her eyes lit up and she immediately tore through its contents, pulling out a regular brown wallet. She yanked a driver's license and proceeded to explain her plan.

With Jasper's blessing, we were about to break into the girl's apartment, in the hopes that being in her own home environment would finally trigger her memories and her present life consciousness.

"It's not breaking in… not technically. She _does_ live there," Alice had argued.

"No, this girl, Isabella Swan lived—lives—there. _She _is a completely different person." I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. I swear, the little pixie was going to make me go prematurely bald.

"Since when do you care so much about the Crazy Chick, as you so wittily call her?" she said hotly, shaking the messenger bag in front of my face.

I ripped it out of her hand, and everything had come spilling out. I threw the contents back in hastily, only barely noticing what I was holding: some tissues, loose receipts, a few coins, keys, the wallet (sans license), dead cell phone, purple iPod, and a notebook thing with thick leather covers. My hands paused over that last item; for some reason, my fingers itched to rifle through its pages. I shook my head and tossed it into the bag.

So that was how we came to stand in the threshold of the girl's apartment. Alice had managed to turn the key in the lock and pushed the door in. We lingered at the doorway, peering inside timidly. The girl still wavered behind us, not even slightly curious as to what was beyond the door.

The air smelled slightly stale from having been shut in. It was an oddly comforting scent, like warm cookies, vanilla, and flowers I couldn't identify. It was relatively neat, though I appreciated how none of the furnishings in the living room really matched. Yet they seemed to belong together; maybe it was simply the color palette, soothing and cool.

Alice stepped inside with a bit more purpose, making her way into the kitchen. There were a few dishes on the draining rack, and not much else. I turned to take the girl's hand and led her into the apartment. She followed easily enough, looking about her in mild interest.

But no mind-blowing revelatory trigger or anything. Shit.

"Alice!" I hissed. She was busy poking her head into all of the doors and cabinets. She didn't even falter in her stride towards the bedroom.

"Edward, chill. Even if she found out about this later, I really don't think she'd mind. We are trying to help her, after all." Alice pulled a door open and found herself facing a tiny linens cupboard. The bedroom door was next.

I let go of the girl's hand as something caught my eye. It had to be the biggest fucking collection of DVDs known to man. I walked over to it as though hypnotized. I trailed my fingers over the titles. It was such an eclectic taste. I caught glimpses of chick flicks like _The Lake House _tucked in amongst fuckawesome movies like _Shaun of the Dead. _Hell, there was even a copy of _Fight Club._ It was like Isabella was a girl after my own—

"_Donde estamos?" _Her voice broke through my thoughts and I whirled around. She stood in the middle of the living room, gazing at the small TV set in the corner. I remembered what Alice had told me about the 'tiny people in a box' comment and I snickered.

"You live here," I told her, stepping closer. "Alice?" I called out.

"What?" she replied, appearing around the corner to join us.

"Snoop much?" Alice gave me the finger. "She wants to know where we are. I told her that she lives here."

"You understood what she said?" Alice asked, confused.

"Uh, I did?" I said, taken aback. I went over her words to me in my head, and my answer. Fuck. I'd understood her. I'd even answered her question, although not in Spanish.

"Well. Interesting." Alice coughed and turned on her heel, heading to the back of the apartment. I grabbed Isabella's hand and pulled her with me behind my sister.

We entered her bedroom. I immediately felt strangely uncomfortable, getting to see what was often a very private part of a person's life. A bedroom could reveal so much about someone. Alice seemed to think along the same lines.

She started opening drawers and pawing through the clothes and shit she found there.

"Alice, it's like you're looking for drugs or something," I snorted. She ignored me and instead yanked out the bureau drawer next to the bed.

I felt the girl release my hand and she wandered about the bedroom as though in a trance. The long skirt Alice had dressed her in grazed the floor, airy and light. She went to the window, parting the curtains aside for a moment. It was almost as though she were expecting to find something… anything. But she didn't speak.

There were a few picture frames on the dresser. I picked them up, noticing the first one held two people about the same age as my own parents. The man in the picture held an obvious resemblance to Isabella; he was there in the curls and color of her hair. The expression on the woman's face was more akin to _hers_. It was then I remembered Jasper's retelling of her case—her parents had died long ago.

I set the frame back gently on the dresser. I was about to take another picture in my hands when the girl beat me to it. She held the image with shaking hands, and I leaned in closer to look at it properly.

There were three people in the photo. One was Isabella, and there was the woman from the hospital… Angela. The third person was a man, Asian, with wire-rimmed glasses who had one arm around each girl. As I tried to put my nose to the glass in order to better read the girl's expression, a trembling hand touched the picture.

The girl put her finger on top of her image, and the expression on her face was hard to decipher. She looked shaken, distraught even.

"Alice, shit, come here!" I grabbed the tops of Isabella's shoulders and dragged her back to the bed. She looked faint.

"_Qué pasa?" _Alice peered into the girl's face, noting the pallor that had seeped into her lips.

"_Soy yo."_ I remembered her words from my studio—'it's me'. What I didn't immediately grasp was why she was so fucking scared of her own image.

"_Sí, eres tú. Ella es tu amiga, Angela."_ Alice pointed to the woman. _"Ella te acompañó en el hospital, recuerdas?"_

"_Pero es que yo no… quién pintó este retrato? Por qué estoy aquí? __No recuerdo haber hecho esto!" _Her voice sounded frustrated, but I did not understand a word of Spanish this time around.

"Alice, what is it?" I asked urgently. I sat next to Isabella on the bed, putting my hand lightly on her shoulder. She didn't seem to shrink away from the contact.

"She asked who painted the portrait—picture. She wants to know why she's in it, since she doesn't remember being there at all." Alice's voice sounded defeated.

I knew she had been really hoping that being back at her apartment, her home, would really be the key to bringing this girl Isabella Swan back. But if she didn't even recognize herself in a fucking picture… we were running out of ideas.

"_Quiero irme a casa. Quiero a E—quiero a mi príncipe,"_ Isabella sniffled. Shit, she was crying now. Alice translated for me: she wanted to go home, and she wanted her prince.

Her _prince_. Right. The girl—the 400-year-old princess—was engaged to a prince. Fuck this.

I suddenly wondered if there was a time limit on this thing. What if we couldn't bring her back, and she never remembered who she really was? I asked Alice this as we left Isabella's apartment.

"I really don't want to know, Edward. But we have to keep trying." Now her tone was fierce. Alice blindfolded the girl before stepping out into the burning sunshine. We put her into the backseat and I crawled in after her, trying to give her as meager comfort as I could by holding her hand again.

We were almost at the house when I spoke. "Alice, I want to read Isabella's notebook," I said, looking at her in the rearview mirror to gauge her reaction.

"Edward, I don't—" she cut herself off abruptly. She raised her damn eyebrow at me. "Isabella? What happened to Crazy Chick? To _the girl_?"

I turned to the woman sitting next to me. Her back was tense, held rigid as she tried not to topple over in the lurching car. The blindfold protected her from the outside world for the short ride. And an unbidden thought rose in my mind—I want to be the one to protect _her_.

And the girl—Isabella—held my hand a little tighter.

--

**Oh, you know Edward is going to read that notebook. Good things coming up, though sadly this is not a lemon kind of story. For that, I highly rec "Clipped Wings and Inked Armor" by hunterhunting. It's drawing to a close but so awesome it inspired me to get my 4****th**** tattoo. Yeah, it's that good. So please, pimp me out to your friends. The more reviews, the faster I'll post the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Shocker! I'm updating… Honestly, I'm embarrassed by how much time passes between ****posting chapters… but my masters course is really kicking my ass right now… just know I haven't forgotten the story… here you go!**

--

The door didn't creak, thankfully. I peered into the darkened room. The only source of light came from the chink created by the open door. It fell directly on the bed, illuminating Isabella's face. She didn't stir.

I breathed deeply, pushing the door further. I crept in, glancing around for the stupid messenger bag. It lay on a chair, neatly propped upon the seat. Looking at it there, it taunted me, knowing.

Disregarding Alice's comments completely, I was there to take the notebook like the fucking stalker I'd become. Since I could barely carry a conversation with this girl, I was intrigued by the woman she had been—Bella, as Jasper had called her repeatedly.

I unzipped the bag, carefully keeping an eye on Isabella so she didn't wake up. The canvas bag rustled softly, whispering in the dark. The notebook wasn't immediately visible, so I dug into the contents. I pulled out a dark blue blouse and short black skirt. Nestled there too was a pair of chucks. Huh. Somehow, despite the glaring differences, I could totally associate the quiet Spanish-speaking girl with a young woman who could pair semi-formal clothes with Converse.

Finally, buried beneath it all, was the notebook. I touched the velvety cover, going over the ridges and whorls etched into the design. I was surprised Alice hadn't guessed at my intentions and hid it before I could get my hands on it. I closed the bag again and snuck out before Isabella could hear me and wake up, probably screaming her fucking head off.

I returned to my room, throwing myself on the bed. I opened the notebook to a random page and began to read.

_... there are no expectations. I'm not quitting, whatever Angela says._

Expectations for what? I flipped back until the beginning of that particular entry. It wasn't her thoughts, but a description of a dream or something:

_I was back in the house. I've never been back since the accident, so it was weird, but this time the house was different. Familiar, but off somehow. There were strange lights in the garden, and then Mom was there…_

At one point in the entry, she rambled on about a celebrity cameo and accidentally diving off a cliff, and ended it with, "then I woke up." It didn't tell me much of anything about Isabella, so I opened the notebook at the first page and began reading then.

Pate after page filled with her endearing chicken-scratch writing. I could barely read for shit. I gleaned so much more about _her_. Her job at Maison Rose, how much she missed her parents. A little about her friends—the people in the picture I had seen, I assumed.

As the writing progressed, it became somewhat repetitive, talking about a recurring dream in which she wandered down an abandoned hallway. The notebook was half-written in, swinging between a weird-ass dream journal and girlish diary. Only towards the end did I begin to discern more about Bella, the girl, and leave behind Isabella, the princess.

I learned she did prefer to go by Bella, rather than her full name. The girl was very self-assured. I felt an unreasonable stirring of jealousy when she mentioned the occasional one-night stand. She loved movies, and quoted Camus, followed European soccer leagues, and spoke French—French! Bella was eclectic, all over the place… looking for something and never quite finding it. I heard her voice clearly through her writing, echoing my own shitty feelings of vagueness and lack of purpose. Such a dangerous line to walk on.

The last entry was a repetition of her wandering dream. That was it; the date marked was the day she was admitted into the hospital and I got Jasper's call. And the day she walked-slash-screamed her way into my life.

I pushed myself up, half-tumbling off the bed. I shut the notebook and crept back to Bella's room. It was almost 5 AM. The sky outside her window was taking on the light blue-gray tinge of dawn. I replaced the notebook in the messenger bag when she suddenly stirred and murmured.

I froze, peeking at her over my shoulder. I thought Bella had woken up. But her eyes were still tightly shut. Something in her expression compelled me to get closer. I stood next to the bed, practically looming over her—seriously, could I get more fucking stalkerish? I watched her breathe for a few moments. The rise and fall of her chest lulled me.

The next sound to come out of her mouth startled me back to focus.

"Edward."

Shit. Not _Eduardo_, but my own goddamn name. Was she dreaming of me? About me? The loudest noise in the room was probably my racing heart. Adrenaline coursed through me. The irresistible urge to touch her zinged at my fingertips. I reached out, the motion almost foreign to my brain. I watched as my hand tangled in her dark brown hair. What I'd been dreaming about since I saw her at the hospital.

I dragged my fingers through it slowly. It was thick and wavy and luxuriant. I hefted it, twisting it to the side and laid it gently on the pillow next to her head. The light was increasing in the room. I spared her one last surreptitious glance before I left her sleeping, and treaded up to the attic studio.

The heat was not yet stifling due to the early hour. I hauled a big blank canvas and set it on the easel, adjusting for its height. I picked tubes of oil paints this time. I spread different colors onto a stained palette and began.

Thick strokes for the background; I settled on the dark blue tone of her blouse. Once it was covered, I splashed paint thinner on a brush and mixed pale flesh tones until they yielded a creamy ivory. It was as though my fingers itched and hummed with electricity, and I knew I would have to finish the piece.

A heart-shaped face was outlined on the canvas. I changed the tones for added depth, and features appeared subtly. A slight rosy blush on the cheeks. Eyes—dark, chocolate, with light flecks of honey, contrasting with the mahogany of her hair. The dark blue background looked lovely with her skin.

Bright, sad, longing… but luminous, somehow. _Bella_. I tried as best I could to capture her essence in flat paint. It was partly the Spanish princess I had met, but mostly the intriguing, living girl I had discovered through shitty penmanship on stolen pages.

And I so feared I loved her.

--

**Currently planning for a sequel to Es/C's story, "Everything I need to know…"**** and another B/E ditty… stay tuned. Oh, and please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**No reviews for the previous chapter! So sad… but here's another one, just because**…

--

"Are you sure she's ready?" I hovered anxiously at Jasper's office door. Bella lay on the leather futon. She still looked terrified, even though the car ride hadn't been that horrible this time. She was looking around anxiously, her slender hands gripping the cushions.

I realized then that the anxiety stemmed from the fact that she had woken up as Isabella for the first time in here. The rush of memories was fucking stressing her.

"Edward, she'll be fine," Alice piped up from the corner. She was there as a translator again. Unfortunately, my Spanish was not sufficiently developed to take Alice's place—although much improved. Considering it had been nonexistent a week ago.

"Yeah, probably, but Alice, look at her," I urged. We all glanced at Bella again. After the mind-blowing revelation of my feelings for her, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about or referring to the girl as anything but Bella. No one had really commented on it yet.

Bella was squeezing her eyes hut, her breathing heavy. It sounded strangely arousing. _Stop it, you asshole_, I chided myself. I ran through disgusting images in my head to stop my pulse form racing, and keep things _soft._ Jasper and Alice were looking at me strangely. I fucking flushed when they noticed my agitation.

"Edward, it's natural for her to be nervous," Jasper said. "I foresaw that—she's had half a Xanax. What I don't get is you—"

"Shut up, you dick," I huffed. Bella finally opened her eyes, and fixed them on me. I managed a small smile for her, which she returned gently. Fucking luminous.

"Well, Edward, if you're done fretting, maybe we could get this session underway." Jasper turned in his swivel chair. I picked Alice's corner, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Bella's eyes still lingered on my face. I cast mine down so she could focus her attention on Jazz.

"Listen to your breathing. Now as you listen to my voice, it takes you down… deeper…" I swear I could feel myself nodding off. A few minutes spun out in silence. I opened my mouth to mention it, but Alice clapped her tiny hand over my mouth. I considered biting her or licking her like we were fucking five, but then I saw what Alice saw.

She was staring intently at Bella as her head lolled on the futon. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She looked completely at ease, with a calm I wished would pervade me…She was under. Bella had been successfully induced into the suggestive state. Whether she'd be able to regress awaited to be seen.

Jasper called her name. Bella's hands twitched. "Who are you?" he asked. Alice translated: _Quién eres?_

"_Soy Isabella Cisneros…"_Alice looked at me and finally withdrew her hand from my mouth. Bella was still the Spanish persona.

"Where are you?" Jasper pressed. Bella took a deep breath, before responding to Alice's words.

"_En el reino de la Nueva España._" I remembered the name from our research.

"What do you see?" Jasper asked, before Alice spoke again. _"Qué ves?"_

"_Pluma, tinta y papel. Estoy escribiendo una carta a mi prometido, Eduardo Caellén."_

"She says she has a pen, ink, and paper, because she's writing a letter to her fiancé, Eduardo," Alice said softly. I felt an irrational stab of jealousy at the mention of Bella's fiancé. Well, Isabella's fiancé.

Through Alice, Bella described her surroundings and her clothes. She told us about her family again, and how her betrothal to this Eduardo Caellén guy would join the two families into a dynasty of sorts. There was lots of money and status involved. She spoke that it was the way of things, and that she understood it was her duty as a woman of rank to marry well. Despite the fact that they had met only once before she set out for the Americas (as she called them too), she cared for him. They kept in touch through sporadic letters.

" _A pesar de la distancia… lo amo,"_ she breathed.

"She loves him," Alice matched the tone to hers. "In spite of the distance between them."

I swallowed hard. "Is she supposed to wake up… you know, the same? Or as she was before this fuck up?" I whispered to Alice.

"Jasper hopes she can come back as her true self. He can't understand why she couldn't regress those other times he tried right after she woke up like this." Alice ran her fingers through her spiky hair, slightly frustrated.

Bella had been silent for a little while, and Jasper took a deep breath. "Bella, listen to my voice. I will count back from five, and when I ask you to wake up, you will open your eyes." He looked to Alice for the Spanish version. She handed him a slip of paper with the translated countdown so Jasper could do it himself. It was too important to fuck it up in another language.

"_Cinco, cuatro, tres, dos, uno… despierta."_

Bella opened her eyes. We all held our breath, waiting to see if this was actually Bella or Isabella. She blinked against the light, hard, and tears filled her eyes. Her mouth trembled and she bit her lip.

"Bella?" Jasper asked tentatively.

"_Mi nombre es Isabella."_

--

_I want to go home_. That's all Bella kept repeating on the ride back to the house and as Alice helped her get ready for bed. She kept up a stream of steady tears that trailed down her face. Bella looked so small and fragile lying on the bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.

Alice sat next to the bed, stroking her hair softly. She murmured in Spanish to Bella for awhile, and she just nodded and sniffed until her eyes grew heavy and closed. Alice stood and motioned me out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"I can't believe we were so close," I muttered, yanking at my hair.

"Jazz is taking it really hard, too," Alice said worriedly. "We were banking on the regression working this time."

"Where is he now?"

"On the phone to Carlisle. He was able to contact some people at the University of Barcelona library with access to archives and documents."

"What kind of shit are we looking for this time?" It didn't faze her that I was now very much invested in Bella's fate.

"Old records, birth certificates, histories… anything colonial. Carlisle said they'd scan whatever they found and e-mail Jasper."

"Well, how long will that take?"

"I don't know. A couple of days. Dad pulled a few strings. Edward, what if it's all a lie? If there's no Isabella Cisneros?" Alice sighed. "Are we prepared to deal with the fact that this girl might just be randomly psychotic?"

Was I prepared to deal with the facts if it were true?


	15. Chapter 15

**It has been awhile *sheepish shrug*. A few more chapters and we'll reach the end. To those of you out there still reading this, thank you.**

--

"Edward, please get her out of the house for a while."

"Why?" I was charcoal sketching while Bella watched my fingers scrawl over the pad.

"I want to go over the documents and call Barcelona to discuss them, but I can't do that if she's here."

"Spanish?" I paused in the sketch and Bella reached over to touch the tip of her finger to the charcoal stick. It came away smudged in gray-black; she rubbed the powdery color between her fingers and grimaced at the stains. I smiled and offered her the corner of my dark t-shirt for her to wipe them off.

"Yeah." Alice smirked at me with a raised eyebrow and turned back to the computer and opened a new tab, shopping for shoes.

Well, shit. I glanced at Bella, who still stared in fascination as a picture appeared beneath the charcoal tip. I put some finishing touches on the sketch before I held it up with a flourish. It was nothing more than the landscaped yard outside, visible through any of the huge windows around the house. At the moment, low-hanging cobalt clouds smeared across the sky, threatening rain. Bella smiled radiantly, and reached out to touch the paper again.

Out of nowhere, something struck the back of the pad I held up and toppled it to the floor. Bella yelped and snatched her arm back. I looked down—black Prada pump.

"Now, get out!"

"Alice! What the fuck! You nearly got her!" I shouted angrily as I stood up from the couch.

"Of course not, you ass. I aimed perfectly. At you." She smiled evilly and gestured for me to hand her back the shoe. Oh, I'd hand it back to her alright. I picked it up and held it, hefting the weight.

"Well, if this is the kind of shit Jasper puts up with, my sympathies are with him," I said snidely while grabbing Bella's hand in mine and pulling her along.

"Hey, my shoe!" Alice called out from the study.

"Oh, yeah." I turned and hurled it straight at her head. High school baseball was not wasted on me. The shoe sailed incredibly fast before she reached up and caught it right before it smashed into her face.

"Fuck you," Alice said sweetly, before she turned back to her computer. To shop for more shoes.

--

"_Puedo?"_ I held up a sparkly silver scarf. Bella bit her lip and nodded slightly, staying still while I looped the fabric around her head and fastened it in a loose knot. I led her to the passenger side and helped her climb in; the seatbelt clicked into place.

I slid into my seat and started the car. The engine revved and I caught Bella gripping the leather seats for dear life. I took her left hand in my right and rested them on the center console. I smoothed my thumb over her skin reassuringly. As I did so, the strangest jolt sparked at my fingertips. I tried to ignore the tingling sensation as I pulled into traffic.

I talked at Bella, knowing she couldn't really understand or respond. Mostly, I was trying to keep her calm, since I knew how much she fucking hated car rides. The place I had in mind was nearly 7 miles away; there was no choice but to drive.

I parked under a shady tree. The air was only just losing its sweltering death grip. The oppressive humidity hinted at possible rain. After I had fed Bella a quick lunch made up of sandwiches and cookies (about all I could make without seriously fucking up), I remembered this park filled with walnut trees and shady breezes—rarely afforded by the sparse Phoenix vegetation.

I tugged the scarf off Bella's eyes, watching her blink in the startling afternoon glare. I smiled at her as she gazed about her in wonder. It really wasn't often that we got her out of the house; it was kind of a hassle, with the blindfold and no immediately available translator without the laptop or Alice nearby.

I went around the car to the trunk. I pulled out an old patterned blanket and bundled it up before leading Bella under the biggest tree in the park. People were starting to come out, exercising in the hot air, walking dogs, relaxing, before the storm hit. The blanket spread beneath the sprawling branches, I gestured for her to sit next to me. Bella hesitated at first, probably askance at the idea of sitting on the ground. Finally, she lowered herself awkwardly, folding her legs and tucking the skirt around her. She sat prim and straight, like she was wearing one of those corset things. She looked around, taking in the sight of the bustling city slowing down to practically a crawl in this park.

This was why I had chosen this place. It was relatively normal, away from the roar and speed of modern Phoenix. I wanted to share part of my world with her, show her that not everything was chaos and noise.

I thought about what Alice might find in her research with the help of those Barcelona guys. I glanced at Bella from the corner of my eye. She was fascinated by some dude throwing a plastic disc to his dog, some russet-colored breed. After a few minutes of blatantly staring at him, the guy turned to meet Bella's eyes. He was really tall, with tanned skin and longish hair. I dismissed him briefly as I pondered about what sort of documents they could dig up on Isabella.

I was brought out of my reverie by Bella's hand suddenly and tightly squeezing my own. I looked up and saw the dude standing before us, his dog panting next to him. I hadn't heard him walk up, or his greeting to Bella. I felt slightly threatened by the man's sheer size, but refused to let it show on my face. I let my eyes travel up to his face.

"Yeah, can I help you?" I asked, hoping my voice sounded bored.

"No, thanks. I was talking to Bella here." He grinned stupidly and nodded at her. She looked helplessly lost, unable to understand anything he said except maybe her nickname. _How did he know her name?_

"Um, okay, I don't think she wants to talk to you, man. Why don't you go back to enjoying your afternoon?" I squeezed back on Bella's hand, trying to reassure her again. I really fucking hoped this wouldn't turn to physical violence. I was in no way equipped to deal with the hugely muscled guy and what was sure to be a hysterical response from the gentle girl beside me.

"I said, I'm talking to Bella, not you. So why don't _you_ just back off?" He crouched so he was at Bella's eye level. As soon as he was closer to her, she started to drag herself until she backed into the tree trunk, her eyes betraying panic and an edge of fear. Oh, fuck no, he was _not_ scaring her like that.

I stood up to my full 6"1', flexing my shoulders. I knew he could take me, probably bust my face pretty bad, but this was Bella we were talking about. Isabella.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," I growled softly, taking a step forward. I would try to draw him away from her, in case he took a swing at me.

"I didn't say. It's Jake." He stood up as well, sparing a glance for Bella. Guy was nine inches taller than me, probably. He was waiting for some flash of recognition, but receiving none. She looked utterly clueless. She did not remember him at all.

Jake, Jake… Jacob? Shit, where had I heard his name before? And then it hit me. The fucking diary. I felt something akin to a gut-wrenching blow to my stomach, but Jacob's hands were nowhere near me. It was realization—one of Bella's one-night stands.

"Well, Jake—" my voice was decidedly shaky, "—I don't think she really remembers you. Maybe you have the wrong girl. In fact… do you speak Spanish at all? 'Cause she doesn't speak English." I turned to look at Bella, cowering on the ground. _"Isabella? Um… conocer a este hom-hombre?" _

Now the guy looked really confused. He alternated glares between me and the girl and looked in amazement at Bella when she answered.

"_No sé quién es. Por qué me habla? __Qué quiere de mí?" _Her tone was both supplicant and scared, with just a hint of indignation. Perfect. Grab on to that.

I didn't really understand what she said, but it seemed to have an effect on Jacob. He shook his head as though clearing it. "What the hell? Bella, it's me, Jake. Don't you remember? From the Starbucks?" His voice trailed off. "You sure as hell spoke English then."

"Yeah, like I said, she doesn't now, so I'm gonna say this one more time. Please leave." I gritted my teeth in frustration. I didn't want to know about guys at the Starbucks. Random guys, one-night stands… fuck.

"Maybe she can remember her English and ask me herself," Jacob said. "Bella? You don't want me to leave, do you? Come on, cut the crap. You know me, and you totally speak English. You practically _screamed_ English that night—"

The next words out of his jaw were drowned out by two things. The first was my fist against his rock-hard mouth, and the second was a crack of thunder and the ensuing rainstorm. The drops pattered, quick and surprising. That was desert rain for you. I could barely register the squeals and the rush of people searching for cover before I reached down, grabbing Bella's hand in mine and hauling ass out of there. I winced as her skin rubbed against my raw knuckles. I think I split them open.

"_La cobija!"_ I turned to her and saw her gesturing to the blanket, now a soaked mess on the ground. Jacob was only beginning to pick himself up, while his annoying dog barked and yipped in the rain. He was massaging his jaw, but appeared relatively unharmed.

"Forget it. No." I hit the button on the keychain and the car chirped open. I yanked on the door, stuffing Bella inside before Jacob could come after us. The rain was really pelting down, and as I peeled out of there, only then did I think to look at Bella. Her eyes were shining, her hair sparkling with droplets of water. Her clothes, like mine, were sopping wet… and kind of see-through. Fuck me. Damn you, Alice.

I steered my eyes clear of her top and instead focused on her face. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "What?" I tried not to smile in return. _"Qué?"_

"_No puedo creerlo… lo golpeaste?"_ She was full-on grinning now. "Um… you… hit." Bella smacked her fist against her own hand to make sure I understood. God, she was trying to speak English. I swear my heart fucking fluttered. My own hands twitched on the wheel and I noticed that I had in fact split the skin on my knuckles. Whatever. It had been worth it.

"Guess I did hit him," I laughed, feeling light and free for the first time in a long time. I took her hand in mine, squeezing it over and over. She settled back in the seat, not panicking even though the blindfold was off.

--

"What the hell did you do?" Alice hissed as she pushed Bella upstairs ahead of her.

"Nothing, we got caught in the rain." I grinned widely and followed them to Bella's room. Alice paused and turned at the door, making me knock into her.

"What are you doing?" Alice tapped her fingernails against the frame, glancing back at Bella, who was standing in the middle of the room, dripping onto the carpet.

"Huh?" I peered around Alice's head for a clear view of her.

"What do you think you're doing? I'm going to draw her a bath—she's soaking wet. You, get the hell out!" She shoved me with her little hip and slammed the door in my face. I didn't even care. I still wore a stupid smile.

"You might want to look at what Barcelona sent us," Alice called through the closed door. "I did some research of my own!"

Okay… I went into my own room and peeled the wet jeans from my legs. Ugh. The t-shirt was plastered to my back and both made squishy noises as I dropped them on the bathroom floor. I considered showering, decided it didn't matter, and simply unearthed dry clothes from my temporary dresser. I slapped a band-aid on my bleeding knuckles and went down to the study.

I spun the swivel chair and stared at the mess Alice had left on the desk. Papers and legal pads and printouts everywhere. Damn. I sifted through the sheets until I found the keyboard beneath them. I checked out the files Alice and I had worked on previously, and was surprised at what she had managed to find since then.

The people at the university had sent her several documents. I peered at the grainy scans and managed to make out a few Spanish words. One appeared to be some sort of family tree, and I immediately saw Bella's name. Well, Isabella Cisneros. Her parents' names had been Carlos and Renata or something (there was a smudge on that one), and it could be traced back to 13th century Spanish families. She hadn't been kidding when she said she was practically royalty. A few branches from her family tree stemmed off with dotted lines to names with what appeared to be royal seals. _Felipe V de Borbón_. I Googled his name and sure enough—he held the throne at the time of Isabella's birth. Holy shit.

Alice had researched a lot about the time period, and specific events from 1697. Among other things, there was a document with the elusive Eduardo Caellén's name. It was a coat of arms, or crest. I read through Alice's notes on him, and found he was a couple of years older than Isabella, and belonged to an equally important family. She hadn't been kidding about the dynasty part of her union with this guy.

"I tried to look up more info on him," Alice said from behind me, making me jump.

"Shit! Don't do that!" I placed my hand over my racing heart. "Where is she?"

"I found her an old copy of _Don Quixote _in Carlisle's library. She's fine. What's this she says about you punching some guy at the park?"

"Oh, that." I shrugged, and explained about our encounter with Jacob. "Seriously, the asshole was freaking her out. Thought he knew her. I kind of lost it when he said some… less than polite stuff about her."

"Bella thinks it was hilarious, for some reason." Alice rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I was saying—there's very little about Eduardo. I can't be sure why, but Carmen and Eleazar are now working on researching documents about _him_."

"Did you Google Eduardo?"

"Of course. Here." She pushed me aside and pulled up some webpages. More family trees, as far as I could tell.

"She's always going on about how she is waiting for this dude. We've never come upon information that he actually made it to the Americas and married her, right?" My sister didn't answer.

"Had you noticed…" Alice hesitated. "That _Caellén _sounds an awful lot like Cullen?"

"Not really, no. What are you getting at?" I toyed with a pen.

"His last name… it turns Irish later on. See?" She pointed at some lines on the genealogy. "These mean siblings, these mean death, and these are for marriage." Alice traced over some names and relationships and then, bam. She was right. Some Spanish guy married an Irish woman and moved to Ireland. Just like that, the name got anglicized.

"No fucking way." I shook my head. "Like Cisneros turned into Swan? That's just a little too convenient. Isabella's boyfriend turns out to have my last name?"

"Consider that this happened several generations later. Look at the dates." Alice mapped them out and again, she was right.

"Again… what are you getting at?" I sputtered.

"I think you should talk to Jasper," Alice said softly, glancing at the roof. Somewhere above our heads sat an oblivious 400-year-old Spanish princess, waiting to return home—waiting for her long lost love.

"I think you should regress."

--

**Ah, of course you saw this coming. ****I think this is the longest chapter I've written. Jake somehow got himself written in here. I did not see that until he was there on the page. Review me! And then please go read **_**Awake in the Infinite Cold **_**by**__**quothme**__**right now. It is beautifully written and makes my heart ache. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Just saw **_**Remember Me**_**… wow. Just wow. Not just because RPattz is in it. That's just an awesome perk; it's a great movie in its own right. I don't know what it is about movies that make me want to write…**

--

"_I think you should regress."_

I mimicked her trilling voice in my head. Fucking Alice. The whole reason I found myself in Jazz's office was because of her insistence. She couldn't get over the coincidences she found regarding our last name.

~*~

"Edward, this could be huge, come on!" she pleaded.

"Alice, what the fuck for?" I huffed, squinting closely at the computer screen. The old penmanship was really fucking hard to read, especially in Spanish, but Alice was there to translate faster and more accurately than Babelshit. It was some sort of letter featuring the elusive Edward's name.

"This is fucking impossible!" I yelled, throwing sheets across the floor.

"Never mind, I'll do it later. Carmen promised she'd FedEx a clean scan by tomorrow. The resolution on that is kind of crappy."

"Should have said something sooner," I grumbled. "Why's it so important to you that I go?"

"You mean, besides your unresolved issues and obvious need for hard-core therapy?" Alice said innocently.

"Yeah, besides that."

"And besides your evident feelings for Bella?"

"My _what_?" I choked.

"Oh, please. It's so obvious it's not even funny. I'd have given you a hard time about it earlier, but this is so fucked up and you with your complications, and yah-da yah-da, etcetera…"

"Okay, fine. I'll do it," I sighed, my face flaming red.

"Really?" Alice seemed stunned. "Just like that. You'll go?"

"On one condition," I warned.

"Money?"

"No." I breathed deeply. "You never mention my, ah—_feelings_ for Bella again. Ever."

"But Edward…"

"Uh-uh. That's the condition.

"I hate you," she pouted.

"I know," I grinned. "So… book me in."

~*~

"Edward, relax, come on." Jasper tapped his pen annoyingly on his legal pad.

"I'm trying," I said through gritted teeth. My clenched jaw indicated otherwise.

"I know Alice forced you into this—"

"I prefer the term coerced. It's classier."

"Whatever. Now focus, Edward."

"Yeah, yeah." I closed my eyes and settled further into the futon. Nothing much happened. Jasper went into suggestion mode.

"Listen to the sound of my voice… you are calm. You are at peace. Breathe deep… breathe out…"

After a few minutes, Jasper went quiet. All I could feel was a deep lulling sense of… calm. I'd fallen asleep, caught in that state that's not quite dreaming, but not complete awareness.

The futon felt like it was being rocked gently from side to side. I wondered briefly if Jasper was tapping his foot against it somehow. I reached out to try and stop him. But there was nothing except air.

I opened my eyes. A few stray strands of hair blocked my vision. I lifted my hand to push them aside, but my arm felt heavy. I could barely raise my head to look around. What the fuck…

Everything felt _hot_. Burning. Heat and pain raced through my body, seeping into my very bones. I forced—_coerced_—my eyes open wider, dry and burning too.

The swinging sensation continued. All I could distinguish in the flickering candlelight were four stark walls, paneled in wood.

Wait, what? Candles? Wood? What was this shit? Did I make it back? Where was I, who was I, _when_ was I?

Coherent thoughts tried to enter my mind, but most were quickly erased in the heat of my head.

_A fever_, I managed to rationalize. My throat felt as though it were being scratched with sandpaper. And then doused with gasoline. Water. I needed water.

"_Agua," _I croaked. _"Por favor."_

There was no one to answer my pleas. The delirious haze was such I did not notice until after awhile that I was speaking Spanish. Maybe that was why no one would come to help me. Fuck, I didn't speak Spanish. But Bella did. _Who is Bella? _

Maybe if I walked around to see where I was. But first I really needed water. _"Alguien… necesito agua."_ But my words would not emerge.

"_Señor!" _An olive-skinned young man suddenly burst into the room. It was barely large enough to hold us both. _"No se mueva."_

And I understood. He didn't want me to move. From nowhere, he materialized a tin cup with lukewarm, stale-tasting water. He helped prop my head while I drank greedily. The water did nothing to quench the raging fire in my head. Now, with the man to compare, I could feel my skin, burning and dry. The rough bedsheets seemed soaked from days-old sweat. Disgusting.

"_Más,"_ I whispered. More.

"_El médico quiere sangrarlo de nuevo,"_ he said. What? No fucking way. The doctor wanted to bleed me? What fucktarded world was I in?

"_Día… qué fecha…"_ my words trailed off. This fever was a bitch.

"_Es __lunes, 13 de mayo."_

"_Año?"_

"_El año de nuestro señor, 1697."_

Shit. Monday, May 13, 1697. Denial wanted to set in, but I didn't let it. This was ago. I went back to Isabella's time. How the _fuck_, I didn't know.

"_Nadie me va a sangrar." _The hell someone was poking shit in me and making me bleed, no matter how far gone I was.

"_Bien, mi señor Caellén." _

Fuck. Me. I was _him? _Isabella's fiancé… Bella and I had known each other all along. She had been in my very distant past, and I in hers. Was this why… this irresistible pull I felt towards her… what the fuck was this? Alice had been right. I hated when she was right. I grasped at those few moments of lucidity, away from the fever. I still felt like me, but not quite; it felt like crooked, overlapping transparencies.

"_Qué me pasa?" _ I wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me—why I felt so shitty. And the rocking—make it stop, please…

"_Tisis. Tiene la tisis,"_ he whispered. Tuberculosis. I was really sick. In 1697, no less.

"_Cuánto tiempo…"_ I wanted to know how long I'd been ill.

"_Los médicos dicen que unos días más. Llegaremos al puerto de Veracruz."_ He said there were only a few days left in the voyage. A ship—that explained the roiling motion. But I shook my head. Not that, you asshole. _"La familia Cisneros lo espera. Ella lo espera. Resista, señor."_ She was waiting for me. Isabella was waiting for me. I tried to ask again, but my throat closed up. I retched, my body arching in spasms and I hurled a thick rope of coagulated blood. _Fucking sick…_

"_Ayuda! Ayuda!" _The man's voice slowly faded as I spiraled into the dark surrounding me.

--

How did this happen? I remembered all too clearly the blood spraying all over the small cabin. I had been on a ship, headed for… some port. Headed for Isabella, so we could be together. She was to be my wife. I loved her. Love her. Was I Eduardo… or Edward again? I was supposed to be someone, at least.

Up. I think. Overhead? The sensation was fucking confusing. The strange fog lifted and suddenly, I was. Like a ghost. I hadn't been able to hold on. I watched as strange men toiled on a ship. The waves lapped at the keel, sprayed on the hull. I watched them heave a shapeless lump overboard, wrapped in a bloodstained sheet. Before I could wonder at it, a voice whispered in my head, _Death. _So it was a body. Mine. Or was it his?

The images switched, like a badly spliced reel of film. _Film? What's that? Has it been invented yet? _Reality mixed past and present in awkward ways. Now I was looking at a balding man put pen to paper. I could read over his shoulder…

_A la más honorable Marquesa del Nuevo Reino de León: Lamentamos informarle que su excelencia el señor Eduardo Caellén ha perecido en el viaje rumbo a la Nueva España… mi más sentido y sincero pésame, esperando que Dios nuestro señor le dé pronto alivio y consuelo…_

Did I speak Spanish? It didn't seem to matter. Because I understood.

The man folded the thick paper, and sealed it in red wax. A coat of arms—a lion, a hand, and shamrocks.

--

_BRRRIIIIINNNNGGGGG. BRRRIIIIINNNNGGGGG. Cause we are living, in a material world…_

"Shit. Alice!"

Jasper's voice broke through the dream. I awoke with a start, to find myself lying on a plushy leather futon, instead of sweaty, bloody sheets, or in the middle of a cloudy oblivion. What the FUCK.

"Jazz?" My voice caught in my throat, and he glanced at me, whispering into the phone.

"He's here, you woke him up! Yes, he was under, Mary Alice—" Wow, her full name. He must be pissed. Jasper huffed and held out my own phone. I tentatively reached out, afraid I wouldn't be able to or to suddenly find myself back in the hellish ship cabin. 1697, holy _shit_.

"Alice?"

"Edward, you have to get home right now. You won't believe this." She hardly paused for breath. "I got the scans Carmen sent from Barcelona. There's a _letter_, Edward, the one you were trying to read yesterday? Eleazar already translated for us. Listen to this…"

But I didn't need to hear Alice read aloud. I knew what the letter said.

Eduardo Caellén had died on his voyage to Isabella. He never made it to the new country alive.

And Isabella was still waiting for him—a man who had been dead for over 300 years.

--

**Spring break is here. Thank the good Lord.**


	17. Chapter 17

**You may have heard of the stuff that's going on down at the Mexico-US border, near my hometown. My family and I went to McAllen, TX for a little shopping trip, careful to return while it was still daytime. This chapter was written while on the highway, on the trip back. Enjoy. We're nearly at the end.**

--

"Jasper, cancel your appointments. We need to get home _now_." I stood up from the futon, and all the blood rushed from my head. I staggered and Jasper shoved me back down, my head between my legs.

"Dude, calm the fuck down!" Jasper rarely swore, so he had to be agitated. "First, tell me what you saw." He waited expectantly, pen poised.

Frustration surged through me. "Jasper, Alice called with some major info. It all has to do with my regression, but I can explain on the way. Right now, we need to fucking _go_." I pushed past him, still kind of wobbly on my feet.

Jazz had no choice but to follow me. I tossed him my keys in the garage lot. "I'll drive you back for your car later." I bundled myself into the passenger seat as Jasper screeched out and rode the expressway. The sunlight hurt my eyes after getting used to the darkness inside the swaying cabin and the almost crippling disorientation I felt afterwards. I hugged my knees to my chest like I was five, the seatbelt digging into my stomach.

"Edward, you okay?"

"Yeah. Jasper, you're not going to believe this…"

--

"I'm telling you, that's what I saw. That's what the guy said," I railed, pushing the front door open. Alice met us in the foyer, and took both our hands dragging us into the living room. I immediately glanced around for Bella, hoping to see her after my hellish day.

"She's not here. I sent her outside with a book." She gestured with her head and I peered around her into the garden. I could see Bella under the only shady tree in the yard, her legs tucked under her in that endearing way. I shook my head. _Focus, you moron, focus!_

"So, here are the documents." Alice pulled out some papers printed on heavy stock and shuffled them around. "There's no real mention of Eduardo Caellén in the histories, because he died relatively young." She produced a copy of a letter that I had previously tried to translate.

"Hey, I've seen that before!" I regaled them briefly with the vision I'd had of Eduardo's burial at sea.

Alice had more information on Isabella's past. "Here, she's mentioned in this account, too." She handed the scan to Jasper and cleared her throat. I glanced up at her. "She never married, but she died in 1699."

"Two years from now?" Alice winced at my tone. "I mean, then? Shit, you know… she claimed it was 1697 now!"

Jasper looked over the letter. "What did you say Edward died of?"

"I didn't. But the guy in the dream—"

"Regression," Jasper interjected.

"Yeah, whatevs. He said it was something called _tisis_, TB. I coughed up a shitload of blood. Fucking gross."

"Yeah, that's what the letter says. I mean, not about the blood, but listen…" Alice took the letter from her husband's hands and read. _"Contrajo enfermedad de la tisis, poco después de zarpar, y de la cual le fue imposible recuperarse. Murió el día trece de mayo del presente…"_

"That's the same day—" I was cut off by a strangled cry behind us.

We all whirled and found Bella gripping the sliding glass door that led to the terrace. She was curling into herself, gasping. I ran to her, taking her by the shoulders. She pushed me away with surprising strength, and raised her head to look at us.

Bella's eyes were scary as hell. There was fierce anger mingled with heart-wrenching despair. She clutched at her chest, and I couldn't figure out if she couldn't breathe or if there was an imminent heart attack. Bella inhaled sharply and swiped at her eyes.

"Eduardo." It wasn't a question.

"_Isabella, yo lo siento—"_

She cut Alice off. _"Eduardo está… muerto."_ Her voice faltered on the last word; we didn't need Alice to translate.

"_Isabella, hicimos todo lo posible por encontrarlo. Pero esta carta lo explica todo."_ Alice held out the FedEx printout and waited. Bella stepped closer and hesitatingly slid it from Alice's fingers. Next to her, I could see the quality of the scan. I figured Carmen or Eleazar in Spain had touched it up. It looked like a fucking original, as though it had been written yesterday.

I stood by Bella's side, torn between wanting to comfort her and scared as shit of her pushing me away again. I wished I could hold her, stroke her hair, murmur sweetly in her ear. Tell her that his last words and his last thoughts had been of her… for her. Things I had no right to know. I settled for watching her, as her eyes traveled over the ancient words and her hands shook with the weight of the terrible news.

"_Nunca llegó a mí." _Bella finally broke the heavy silence. Two tears trailed down her pale face. Jasper and I glanced at Alice, who did not take her eyes off Bella.

"She says… he never came to me."

"_Para qué? Por qué estoy aquí si él no está conmigo?"_

"She wants to know why she was brought here, if he's not—Bella!"

The girl had turned and fled. She bolted through the glass doors and into the yard. Bella was fast. She was halfway across the lawn before we could react and chase after her. She still clutched the letter, a crumpled mess in her fist.

"Bella!" I called out. She didn't turn. She hit the wooden fence that bordered the gardens and scrabbled about, looking for the door that led to the empty lot behind the house.

"Bella, don't, please," I begged, stopping some distance away from her. Her face was like a trapped animal's might look like when cornered.

"_Por favor," _I breathed, trying not to scare her away. I tried to put myself in her shoes. Her heart had just been shattered by complete strangers, and she didn't know where she was or why she was here and now.

"Edward, be careful!" Alice's voice carried across the expanse of grass, before it happened. Bella's determined but wounded expression came at me and I found myself shoved backwards. I hit the ground with shocking force. My teeth rattled in my skull and I watched Bella sprint for the side entrance to the house, which led to the driveway and onto the street.

"Alice, stop her! She's headed for the front!" They hadn't made it more than halfway down the yard, so they were closer to the house. I scrambled to my feet and took off again, heart pounding and backside throbbing. I followed the path she'd taken, hoping Alice and Jasper would intercept her.

Suddenly, I knew what I needed to say. I sped up, pushing through the wayward hedges before I glimpsed Bella running into the middle of the street.

"_Regresa! Isabella, regresa!"_

She stopped in her tracks and whirled. I was still a good ten feet away when I heard it.

The sharp squeal of tires and the dull sound of Bella's body hitting the pavement.

--

**I think it might have been obvious that was going to happen as soon as I mentioned she was headed for the street. Any thoughts, comments? Thanks to those who favorite'd and review. You make my day.**


	18. Chapter 18

Machines beeped all around her. It reminded me strongly of her last hospital stay, except for the fucking oppressive cloud hanging over me this time.

I held my head in my hands, tugging at the greasy strands. I'd been here for nearly 24 hours, waiting for Bella to wake up.

She was still asleep. I refused to use the word 'comatose' like those prick doctors. As in, _"The patient could remain comatose for at least 24 more hours."_

I tried not to remember as the EMTs worked over Bella, checking for fractures, splinting her whole body onto a board. There was no blood anywhere that we could see, thank God, but apparently that had been even more ominous.

"She could be bleeding inside her body, inside her skull," Jasper whispered softly as I'd climbed onto the back of the ambulance. A few cuts and scrapes were cleaned off during the ride to the hospital. I held her hand the whole way, growling like a fucking animal when the EMTs told me to move aside. As soon as we arrived, Bella was whisked off for a CT.

Jasper and Alice were taking care of admission details and filling out forms, trying to locate Angela again. It felt eerily like a repeat of just a few weeks ago, but this time there was so much more at stake for me.

We had been in each other's pasts and I could not conceive of any fucking future without her. But for now, all I had of Bella was her sleeping form under hideous hospital issue sheets.

I looked up as Alice came quietly into the room. She handed me a Starbucks cup. "Angela is trying to book a flight back from Seattle."

I sipped my latte, realizing it was the first thing I'd eaten all day. Alice sat next to me, putting one hand on my shoulder. She didn't say anything; she didn't have to.

Bella lay on the bed, her breathing slow and even. The machine rigged to her pulse beeped out a strong rhythm. That sound gave me hope.

"What am I gonna do?" I finally said, leaning into Alice's embrace.

"About what?" She wasn't going to make it easy for me.

"Her. Me. Us. I don't know." I rubbed my hand over my eyes. "We knew each other once, Alice. In a weird, fucked-up way, we're connected. How did this happen?"

"Kismet? Fate? Magic 8 ball? Alice poked my side. "Don't know, Edward. But it happened, and I don't think you should give up, no matter who she is when she wakes up, Isabella or just Bella."

Easier said than done. I'd spent time with Isabella, tapping into parts of me I didn't know existed. I'd kind of stopped being Edward Cullen, vagrant douche who hated work and was an artist only in name. Now I was actually painting again, and rediscovering how much I loved it. But along the way, I'd read about Bella, and was halfway in love with the woman who dug Nintendo controllers, zombies, and paired fancy skirts with beat-up Chucks.

"Halfway in love…" I muttered to myself.

"Love?" Alice perked up.

"It's just…" I hesitated. "I don't know. If she could… if I… maybe, getting to know Bella, not just Isabella, there could maybe be a chance for us to… be something _more_."

"Whoa," Alice said softly. "You _do_ love her, don't you?"

"It's only been a few weeks but… maybe?" I asked helplessly, shaking my head. "I have a whole attic—yours, actually—filled with paintings for the first time in years… all because of her. So maybe… yeah. All of her. I love her."

A frantic siren filled the room; Bella's heart rate was out of control. About ten seconds passed, Alice and I hovering over Bella, pushing the call button. A couple of doctors and nurses burst in, flipping switches and placing instruments on her body.

Jasper ran in, breathless. "What is it?" He addressed the room at large, but one of the doctors answered him.

"Her pulse spiked rapidly, but for no reason we can discern. She seems fine, brain activity's normal."

"Sure, despite the fact that she's still asleep," I snarled, my fear making me lash out.

"Sir, comatose patients can—"

"_She's not fucking comatose, you asshole! She's—"_

"Edward," Jasper warned, stepping between the doctor and me.

"Um, guys…" Alice said.

"What?" I yelled, whirling towards her.

Alice wasn't looking at me. She was staring wide-eyed at the hospital bed. We all turned in its direction.

Bella was awake. She was blinking furiously against the harsh fluorescents, and her eyes threatened to slide closed again. We all stared, mesmerized.

Jasper spoke up first. "Hello. I'm Dr. Whitlock, you're at St. Joseph's Hospital here in Phoenix. Can you tell me your name?" She just stared back at us.

"Maybe it's too overwhelming," I said in a low voice. Her eyes snapped to mine, and held my gaze.

It was intense. The doctors and nurses surrounding her stepped back from the bed. Something crackled in the air but our gaze didn't waver.

My heart pounded like crazy. Was she still Isabella or Bella?

"_Quié__n eres?" I_ asked, fists clenched in fearful anticipation.

Finally, she blinked. Confusion filled her eyes.

"I'm Bella," she whispered. "Who are you?"

**I'm so in the writing groove right now. I've got a couple more stories on back burners, but I really want to get this one finished before I post any others. And for those, I'd like to be a regular poster like all those fanfic authors who inspire me to be a better writer. A couple more chapters to go… **


	19. Chapter 19

**Well, if I have any regular readers at all they should have learned by now to discount anything I say regarding when I'll update… but here we are! Leave me some love!**

BPOV

I pushed open the door to my apartment. I looked around briefly as I yanked the key from the lock.

"I was here earlier and did a bit of clean-up," said Angela apologetically. "Sorry. I know you like your privacy."

"No, no, it's fine, Ang. Thanks; you really didn't have to." I walked inside very slowly. My body still ached all over from the accident. My legs and arms were covered in healing scrapes, and my head would pound if I sat or stood up too fast. But it could have been a lot fucking worse.

Angela helped me carry in my bag, even though it wasn't particularly heavy. I stepped into my room, somehow surprised it looked the same after all this time.

Once I woke up at the hospital, surrounded by Dr. Whitlock and complete strangers, I'd started crying. I couldn't remember anything that had happened, why the fuck was I lying in a hospital bed, bruised and cut. A tiny pixie-like woman had spoken up softly, and everyone except for my therapist had cleared the room.

Among them was a tall, bronze-haired guy about my age. For some reason, he looked absolutely crushed and on the verge of tears himself as he left behind Pixie Girl. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.

Dr. Whitlock sighed as he'd pulled up a chair next to my bed. "There's no delicate way of saying this. Bella, you've been regressing as another persona for the past 3 weeks."

I swallowed hard. "Three weeks?" I'd whispered.

"You were… a Spanish woman called Isabella Cisneros." Dr. Whitlock stared at me intently. The name meant nothing to me. "You claimed it was 1697."

"What?" I burst out. "1697? What the fuck are you on?" I tried to sit up on the bed, but found my arms would hardly support my upper body weight.

"You have absolutely no recollection of these past few weeks?"

"No." I took a deep breath. "The last thing I do remember is… your office. My session was beginning. You were talking me under… and I fell asleep." I closed my eyes. "Then everything went black."

"When you woke up, you went into hysterics. I had to sedate you, then bring you to the hospital," he said simply. "You spent all this time at my house, under my care. Your friend Angela was not available to care for you, so as your medical proxy, I was responsible for you."

"So why am I back here?" I asked, tentatively trying to raise my arms again. Not a good idea; I winced.

"You were hit by a car. But you're going to be okay," he added quickly, when he noticed my expression. "You have a deep concussion and were in a sort of coma for the last 24 hours as your body and brain were healing themselves. But you should have no permanent damage."

_Damage_. Shit. A few tears escaped and I sniffed.

"Don't worry, Bella. After a few days of rest, I'll get you released. As soon as possible. Angela is on her way from Seattle. Is there anyone else you'd like me to notify?"

"Er, no. There's no one else." I wiped my eyes slowly with my hospital gown's sleeve. "But I do have a question. Who were those people here with you earlier?"

"Oh, yes," he chuckled. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce you. The bossy little woman is my wife Alice, and he is her brother Edward. The one not wearing scrubs," he clarified.

"And why were they here, in my room?"

"Well, Alice has been translating for us. You only spoke Spanish during that time. And Edward—he's actually been spending days with you. He's helped to take care of you."

"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "I only spoke Spanish? I don't understand. I've never even studied the fucking language!"

"Yes, you were quite fluent," Dr. Whitlock said seriously. "Spanish royalty from colonial times."

"Colonial?" Something vague stirred inside me at the word.

"It's a long story." Dr. Whitlock smiled ruefully. "I'd better start at the beginning…"

I lay down on my bed at Angela's insistence. Though I'd done nothing more than leave the hospital (driven by her, of course), I was really fucking tired.

My mind couldn't stop going over everything Dr. Whitlock—or Jasper, as he insisted I call him—had recounted. And especially nagging was the thought that I hadn't openly expressed my gratitude for everything his family had done for me. I felt my independence was at stake; I didn't like owing people anything.

Alice had been by to visit at the hospital everyday. We had talked as though I had known her forever. She told me all about her life with Jasper, her job, and talked some about her brother, Edward. He, however, did not show up at all. When I'd asked Alice why, she shook her head sadly and shrugged.

From what she'd told me, Edward was the one who had really taken care of me, making sure I was safe, comfortable, and even well-fed. So it struck me as strange that he didn't visit.

I thought about paying him a visit myself. But since he was obviously dealing with some issues of his own, I reconsidered. He probably didn't want to see me anymore, after being my fucking babysitter 24/7. I tried to shake it off, but my head wouldn't let it go.

Jasper had also let on that _Maison Rose_ was actually owned by his brother-in-law and his wife, Rosalie. Ahhh… he had also hastened to explain how for awhile, they thought I'd schemed to some elaborate lawsuit. But it turned out that they'd held my job for me, whenever I was ready to return.

The dinner shift was in full swing. I'd served patron after patron, offering some time at our bar for those who showed up without reservations. The restaurant was packed.

I steered an elderly couple to their table and handed them menus. Assuring them their server would be right out, I sidestepped the close-set tables and found myself facing none other than Edward Cullen.

He looked… fucking handsome. There were no other words. The bronze, unruly mop; he wore a dark green screen tee that complemented his eyes; a black blazer, jeans, and black boots finished the look. It was so hot, yet seemed effortless. As his eyes raked quickly over me, I couldn't help but glance shyly down at my own outfit. Shit, since when did random hot guys make me _shy_?

He opened with, "What, no Chucks today?"

"How do you—" I cut myself short.

"Oh, there was a pair in your bag. Um, Alice found them when she was looking for contact telephone numbers in your wallet… and stuff." He also flushed inexplicably, running his fingers through his hair. I suddenly imagined myself doing that for him, and _damn_… stop it, Bella.

"So… do you have a reservation?" I paged back in the ledger and traced my finger down the list.

"Yeah, 8:30." Edward leaned closer to me, pointing out his name. I got a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and delicious. It smelled familiar. I wondered who the lucky girl was tonight.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat and picked up two menus. "Follow me, please." We walked to a secluded corner table. "Is your date arriving shortly? I'll leave her menu." Edward smiled at me and our eyes locked. I blushed again. What the _fuck_?

"No, it's just me tonight. One menu is fine." He reached for it, but I held on, realizing this was my chance.

"Um, before I go… I just wanted to thank you. Jasper—Dr. Whitlock—and Alice, they told me everything you did for me. I am… very grateful. So… thanks." I smiled back, but it felt more like a grimace of sorts. Real smooth.

"It was my pleasure, Bella," he said, peeking up at me. I felt a slight tug on the menu I still clutched like crazy in my hand, and I released it with a muttered _sorry_. "May I ask you something?" Edward asked hesitatingly.

"Sure." I shifted nervously on my heels.

"Jasper also said… well. I don't mean to intrude on your experience, but…" his brow furrowed.

"You really don't remember me?"

I froze. My heart pounded, my mind reeled as though from a great height even though my feet were firmly planted on the ground.

"No. I'm sorry. I don't remember anything at all," I whispered hoarsely.

Edward's expression was one of resigned disappointment. It made me wonder what the hell I had said to him—what _Isabella_ had said.

"So, thank you, again." I gave a half-assed wave and left him quickly. Who the hell dines alone? He hadn't even brought a book or anything. The rest of the night passed in a blur. But I refused to let myself turn from the hostess' stand to peek at him. Not until he left the way he came, except for a wistful backwards glance he threw my way.

That was the first night I dreamt of Edward Cullen.

**I have great admiration for those writers who can update on a regular schedule. Next story I post, I think I'll write it out completely first, so I can post chapters like that. Review? Even if I don't deserve it…**


	20. Chapter 20

**I write this as I sit at a Starbucks and drink vanilla lattes and have a 3-cheese sandwich. Do they have those in the States? Anyway, we're closer to the end… sorry about the super long wait, but work was kicking my ass. Enjoy!**

She didn't know me.

Her words hit me square in the chest as though she'd actually punched me. I could only stare at her as she began to cry and Alice ushered us out of the room, doctors included. They huffed indignantly, but one evil glare from my sister had them scurrying down the hallway.

All I wanted was to go to Bella's side, hold her hand, and explain everything to her. I knew Jasper would do all that, as he was technically the only person she did know. He was her therapist, after all.

We made our way to the waiting room. I paced restlessly, while Alice sat on the squeaky leather couch. I ran my hands through my hair, making it stand on end. I must have looked deranged; an older woman gave me occasional sympathetic glances. She probably thought someone I loved was in surgery or very seriously hurt. Except _I_ was the one that hurt. Fuck, I was being such a pussy about this…

"Edward, stop. You're making me nervous," Alice chirped.

"Shit." I came to a halt and just plopped next to her. She gripped my arm in sympathy as I put my head in my hands. Hadn't we just done this?

"We have to give her time, I think." Alice rubbed my arm soothingly, patting my back with her other hand. I felt like a child.

"More time?"

"Seriously, Edward, you've known her for like a month… it's a little premature, isn't it?"

"Probably," I sighed. Alice had a point. We had just met. Or to be precise, I had just met Isabella. And Bella didn't know me at all.

"Well, look at it this way. She's just been through hell. Bella seems like a lonely kind of girl. Maybe she'd like to remain friends with us. Get to know you."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I leaned on the back of the couch, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. My head was starting to hurt like a mother. "She seemed extremely freaked out by everything."

"She feels that now. But time, Edward… there's always _time_."

And who would give us back the time we had spent together?

Bella wasn't looking at me. At all. I was practically boring two holes on her back, but she remained oblivious. I tapped my fork impatiently on the edge of my plate until an elderly woman turned around and glared at me in annoyance. I shrugged an apology and went back to staring at the girl of my dreams.

Literally.

Ever since I had had that fucking regression, Bella—or Isabella I guess—had starred in my dreams night after night. It was always the same. I was riding a horse like mad on a dusty road, surrounded by scrawny mesquite trees. The sense of urgency in my dream was overwhelming; something was pulling me in a single direction and I rode the horse towards it.

After awhile, as the sun dwindled in twilight, I reached a rough-hewn gate. It was the entrance to a great estate. Still, I rode, until a huge house came into view. Other people dressed in shabby clothes walked about, herding chickens and cattle and going about life that was centuries old. I vaulted off my ride, and strode purposefully to the heavy metal-studded door. Before I could pound on it, it would creak open, and Isabella stood there.

The look in her eyes was indescribable. Utter joy and relief were etched upon her face, as I engulfed her in my arms without further order or ceremony. I twirled her around and around, as her embroidered skirt swirled about us.

A comforting sense of being _home _pervaded me, as I inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. Our eyes met. And then, right before I fucking kissed her, I would startle awake, and I could swear that the smell of strawberries and flowers still lingered on my pillow.

Frustrated and confused—those were my mornings now. I usually spent my mornings and afternoons painting in Jasper and Alice's attic, which they had kindly let me keep as my studio. It had been awhile before I'd worked up the courage to stalk her at work. Rose and Emmett would occasionally give me little tidbits about her, but I couldn't resist seeing Bella for myself.

And now, she wouldn't even acknowledge my existence. I suppose I might have made her uncomfortable with my impromptu appearance. Well, impromptu for her, at least. I had planned my outfit very carefully (with Alice's assistance, of course), and what I would say, and had even dared hope for what she might reply. Of course, it all went to shit and now I was ogling her and fucking pouting because she wouldn't just _turn and look at me. _

When I finally left, I tried to edge as close as possible to the hostess stand for the chance to say something to Bella. Unfortunately, she was busy trying to find a lost reservation for some really bitchy ladies, and so barely even glanced at me. All I could muster was a lame-ass smile before I pushed my way into the balmy night.

Back at square one. No time to lose—and I made my decision.

I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts. The line rang a couple of times before a deep female voice answered.

"Victoria? Hey, it's me. I really need to see you tonight."

**DUN DUN DUUUUUUNNNNN… Okay, trust me on this, ladies (and gents—you know you're out there). Intrigued? Put me on alert and pimp me out to your friends. Last chapter coming up!**** And sorry about the lateness of this one. Huge apology and hugs. **


	21. Chapter 21

BPOV

"Vanilla latte, iced, please." I handed a ten-dollar bill to the barista and pocketed the change. I walked with my drink to the furthest empty corner table and sat. I pulled a thick paperback from my messenger bag and proceeded to get lost in 11th century England.

Not ten minutes later, I sensed a prickling on the back of my neck. I glanced up from my book and watched Edward stroll in, headed straight for the counter. I felt a red-hot blush creeping up my neck, and I got flustered as fuck. I couldn't decide whether to try and draw his attention or just hide behind the paperback.

Before I could make up my mind, he turned to me and froze. There was no fucking way I could ignore him now, so I opted for a slight smile, and a half-assed wave. My fingers tried to wiggle in some cute way that just came out awkward as shit. Edward nodded in acknowledgment and, drink in hand, made his way over to me slowly.

"Hey, Bella." He fidgeted and I caught a random phone number scribbled on the cup's coffee collar. _Tanya_. The barista. Slut.

"Hi, Edward. Um, want to sit?" I gestured at the empty chair next to me before remembering I'd put my bag on it. I hastily stashed it under the table between my feet, and Edward lowered himself slowly into the chair.

"So… what are you doing here?" he asked, tossing a nervous look over his shoulder.

"Nothing, really. Just some reading. You?"

"Oh, I'm uh, meeting someone." Edward ran his hand through his hair as he sipped from his cup. "Fuck, it's hot!" he muttered.

My stomach had plummeted a little at his words. _Meeting someone_. Shit. But why should that bother me? I had no claim on him or his time. Still, I couldn't shake the uncomfortable ache that gnawed inside me.

"Hey, Cullen!" We both glanced up at the sound of his last name, and I stared as a really attractive redhead walked through the door of the Starbucks. And I mean really attractive. I visibly cringed. Was this who Edward was waiting for?

While I tried to sort through the mental barrage, the girl reached our table. Then she stooped and dropped a kiss on Edward's cheek. Shit. I gripped my latte for dear life.

"Hey, Vicky. Um, Victoria, Bella—" He gestured between us as an introduction, and the redhead gave me a bright, stunning smile. Edward, meanwhile, looked extremely uncomfortable. Why should he? He didn't owe me any explanations. I was just… a friend, meeting another… friend?

"Hello, Bella, nice to meet you!" Vicky held out her hand to me, and I wiped mine before I shook it. She had a firm grip, not intimidating, but very self-assured.

"Let me pull up a chair for you," Edward said, glancing around for an empty one.

The _hell_ I was sticking around to watch them flirt and kiss and whatnot. "Oh, that won't be necessary, I was just leaving…" I stuffed my book into my messenger bag, and pushed back from the table hastily.

"No, Bella, it's okay. Edward and I, we just have some ar—"

"Nonono, I don't want to intrude, I have to get home anyway," I said in a high-pitched voice. I stood, almost crushing my coffee cup.

"Bella, I just wanted to tell you—" Edward rose with me, reaching out to touch my arm.

"Hey, yeah, it was good to see you again, too. Um, Victoria, is it?" Or redhead bitch, whatever. "Have a nice day. Bye." I bolted out of there, leaving Edward standing there, with a sad, miserable look on his face. Well, I was out of his hair, if it was a nice, mid-morning rendezvous he wanted with his firecrotch girlfriend. I wondered if the carpet matched the drapes…

Fuck! Why was I angry at _him_?

**Oo x oO**

My phone rang as I was putting a pair of panty hose into my bag. I scrambled around to find it vibrating and dancing inside. Alice.

"Hey, pixie. What's up?" I cradled the phone on my shoulder as I tried to find my high-heeled torture shoes.

"Bella! How are you?"

"Getting ready for work. You?"

"About to ask you a huge favor. There's this art exhibit charity thing on Saturday, and I was wondering if you would come with me? I really don't want to show up alone."

"Me? What about Jasper? Can't he go with you?"

"He would, but he's on call that night. Please, pretty please?"

"I don't know, Alice…"

"Oh, hey, by the way, did you run into Edward today?"

I was caught off guard by the question. "Uh, yeah, he was at the Starbucks with some redhead… _bitch_," I added under my breath, remembering.

"Was he?" Alice sounded amused. "I think I know her. Victoria?"

"Yeah, that's her name." I tried to sound blasé, but I don't think I fooled Alice for a minute.

"Okay. Well, I gotta go. I need to call someone. So, I'll swing by your place at 8, help you get ready Saturday. Bye!"

"Wait, Alice, I haven't said yes. Alice!" She'd already hung up. Shit.

All night long, I wondered about Victoria and Alice's phone call. And that fucking exhibit she wanted me to attend. I simmered slowly in resentment as thoughts about the redhead bitch and the crazy pixie swirled about my head. I wondered if Edward would be there Saturday. And if he'd be escorting his darling friend Vicky.

Fuck, what was wrong with me? It was no skin off my nose if he was dating her. Just because Edward was constantly in my mind, and my heart fluttered like a hummingbird whenever he was near… it was just a stupid crush, physical attraction. I mean, the man was _hot_. I was definitely not.

Finally, I decided I was going with Alice. I had to see them together with my own eyes, and maybe then the reality of Edward as someone else's boyfriend would set in and I'd finally get him out of my head—and dreams.

**Oo x oO**

"Here." Alice pulled an outfit from my closet.

"It's a dress, Alice." I crossed my arms defiantly.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. It's cute, though… one of the few things I've found that qualify."

"I don't wear dresses if I can help it," I said through clenched teeth.

Alice sighed. "Fine. I'll let you wear leggings with it." She dragged me to the bathroom, and proceeded to peel off my jeans.

"Alice!" I cried indignantly. "I can dress myself!"

"Based on your closet, it's pretty clear you can't." After a brief struggle, I managed to shove her out of the bathroom and lock the door.

Minutes later, I emerged, only to be pushed in front of my dresser and tortured. Well, Alice curled my hair and slathered my face with makeup while I fidgeted and squirmed. Which is the same as torture in my book.

"Bella, so help me God…" Alice threatened, as she held the curling iron high above my head.

"Okay, okay," I mumbled, and just decided to close my eyes while she finished.

When she was done, it was nearly 9. I sat there, staring at the stranger in the mirror. My hair was tamed, long and loose and flowing in curls down my back. Its brown color stood out against the dark blue of my dress, as did my flawlessly made-up skin. I prodded my cheek; it felt like I was wearing a mask. My eyes were dark and sultry, smudged and smoky to perfection.

"Stop poking your face, you'll ruin it," Alice chided, catching my gaze in the mirror.

"It's just… not me at all."

"I don't expect you to do this everyday, but on special occasions, you have to admit—you look hot!"

I blushed. Hot for what… or who? Which reminded me…

"Alice? Will Edward be at this charity thingy?"

"Yes," she said absently, stuffing my wallet and cell phone into a small purse I didn't know I owned. I suspected I didn't.

"Oh." I went over to my closet and scrounged around until I pulled out a semi-new pair of black ballet flats.

"You're not serious," Alice huffed with her hands on her hips.

"It's this or my chucks." I restrained the urge to crouch over my Converse, hissing and baring my teeth. I settled for giving Alice an evil glare and she gave up.

Alice was driving to the art exhibit. I climbed into a small yellow Porsche. As she sped off, I clung for dear life and tried to buckle my seat belt. Cars blurred past on the highway.

"Fuck, Alice, slow down!" I gripped the armrest as she swerved around traffic.

"The last time I drove you in this car, you had to be blindfolded, you were so freaked out. Or rather, Isabella was."

"Really?" Alice didn't offer a lot of information on those days I lived as Isabella. I wondered if she was under orders from Jasper not to tell me anything, still hoping to spark some remembrance in me.

"We'll be there in no time."

"As long as we get there _alive_," I muttered. Alice ignored me as we continued towards the outskirts of Phoenix.

The night air was surprisingly pleasant as Alice left the car with a valet attendant outside a sort of fancy warehouse. Candles embedded in wax on the floor lit our way in. She ushered me past a table that held printed programs for the exhibit, but didn't give me a chance to nab one.

Inside, the place was packed. Industrial lighting above the canvases on the walls contrasted with tea-lights and votive-style candles surrounding the artwork. Waiters were walking around with flutes of champagne, and I snagged two glasses for Alice and me.

"So, Alice, what's the name of—"

As I turned to hand her the drink, Alice faced me with a mildly chagrined look. "Bella, I really hate to leave you alone for a moment, but I have to find my parents. They're the ones organizing this charity fundraiser, and there's something I have to discuss with them. I'll introduce you later, but for now, do you mind if I go find them?"

"Well, I guess if it's just for a few—"

"Great! I'll meet you back here in ten, okay?" With that, Alice darted away. Crazy pixie left me standing there with two glasses of booze and I didn't know anyone there. Dammit. Well, no sense in letting good champagne go to waste. I sipped until they were both gone.

Dropping both flutes onto a passing waiter's tray, I decided to walk around a bit and enjoy the exhibit. If this was a charity fundraiser, and Alice's parents were organizing, I didn't even want to imagine the price tags on some of these works of art.

"Hey, Bella, is it?" Before I'd taken two steps, I turned around at the sound of my name and was faced with none other than Victoria Firecrotch. Her presence reminded me that Edward would probably be around.

"Oh, hi, um, Victoria?" I shook her hand again and glanced around surreptitiously for Edward, expecting him to appear at any moment and sweep his girlfriend away. I wanted to escape before that happened.

"Yes, how are you tonight? Are you enjoying the show?" She looked stunning in a long black dress that hugged her curves; her wild red hair was arranged in a tasteful chignon away from her face. Gorgeous. Shit.

"Oh, well, Alice and I just got here, I was about to go have a look around," I stammered nervously.

"I do hope you enjoy it. We worked very hard on this event for the Cullens," she smiled. I stared at her, puzzled.

"We?"

"Oh, my girlfriend Irina and I, we own this gallery. Edward and I were hammering out some last-minute details a few days ago." _Ohhhh_… wait, did she say—

"Girlfriend?" I managed to say, and Victoria's impish answering grin was enough confirmation. Awesome. I could stop calling her Firecrotch.

"Well, I don't want to keep you from the exhibit. Edward should be around somewhere." Why she wanted to share that particular tidbit with me, I didn't know. I feigned nonchalance. "Great seeing you again, Bella."

"Yeah, you too!" I guess I could afford to be friendly now, right?

As I walked about, entranced by the flickering flames reflecting off the canvases, I noticed a trend among the paintings. Even though some of them were done in oils, others in watercolors, pastels, and charcoals, there seemed to be a predominant subject: women.

The art was beautiful. As I gazed at canvas after canvas, where the women were sitting in chairs, gracefully posing under trees, some gazing from windows, I came to a realization. These were not pictures of women, plural. It was the same woman, over and over again.

I came to a painting tucked away in a corner. Soft candlelight lit it from the sides. It was a medium-sized canvas, done in oil pastels. It was the woman, drawn from behind. The most prominent feature in the picture was her hair. It was dark brown, with subtle red streaked in it. You could barely discern her profile, touched by the sunlight coming in through the painted window. Something about her seemed familiar…

I pulled back, looking at the picture hanging on a nearby wall. This was a charcoal sketch, only this time the woman was gazing at the viewer over a book. The swirl of her hair across her forehead… the arch of her brows… the shape of her eyes… the set of her nose above the tilt of her mouth… I gasped.

It was me.

It was almost like staring into a black and white mirror. How the fuck did a picture of me wind up here? I turned around, and now that it was glaringly obvious I saw myself in all the pictures, drawn from different angles. Oh, my God. Did she know? Did Alice know? Who had done this?

I faced the oil painting again, mesmerized by the mahogany curtain of hair. Whoever had done this made it seem almost _alive_… I stretched my hand towards the canvas, fingertips yearning to touch…

A large hand closed over mine. "It's even more beautiful in person."

I whirled, heart pounding. "Edward!"

He stood there, a lopsided smile on his handsome face. He was wearing a black formal suit, and black Converse sneakers. Clearly Alice hadn't gotten to him; a nervous smile of my own appeared.

"Do you like it?" His tone strived to seem normal, but I thought I detected a hint of something else beneath it. My hand was still enveloped in his. Edward's warm touch sent tingles all the way down my arm.

"Like it? Edward, it's wonderful. But, how did—I mean, is this…?" I gestured helplessly, not knowing how to explain my overwhelmed feelings. Then it dawned on me. "They're your work?"

He glanced at the floor, speaking to his shoes. "It _is_ you in the paintings. I'm sorry, maybe I should have asked, should have told you before I—"

"No, that's not it… what I want is…" I took a deep breath.

Edward's green eyes darkened. "You didn't remember me." He tightened his grip on my hand before stepping closer. I was suddenly surrounded by his scent, and trapped in his gaze.

"Why did you do this?" I whispered.

"You're all I can see. At night, in my dreams… since you came back, there's nothing else. Only you."

Just like me. I couldn't find any explanation why Edward was in my head, all the time. Something in me _did_ remember.

"I've been dreaming of you, too," I confessed in a breathless voice. "I don't understand why… I barely know you…"

"Oh, but we do," Edward whispered fervently. "And I want you. All of you. _Isabella_… Bella." He brought my hands together around him, pulling me flush against his body in a tight embrace. His lips touched mine gently, and I closed my eyes.

I was soaring, the warmth of his mouth never leaving me. Familiar images flashed behind my eyes… of me, and Edward, and another lifetime. With a dizzying sense of vertigo, everything fell into place. I was his, as he was mine. Forever.

Our brief kiss ended. I looked up into his face, wanting to believe. Needing to believe. "What do you want?" Edward brought his mouth to my ear, brushing his lips softly against my skin.

"_Regresa a mí," _he breathed.

And my heart understood.

**Oo x oO**

**THE END**

**Wow. It's been an amazing journey. To those of you who have chosen to travel with me, a very heartfelt thank you. Despite my failtastic updating schedule, I'm finally finished with this story. I have a couple more in the works, but I've decided to complete all the rough drafts before posting; that way, if I have any regular readers, hopefully they'll want to stay that way. **

**Thank you so much for your time! Love you all!**


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